A face in the thoughts

There is a face that is keeping me company today, following my train of thoughts into winding paths of rustic melancholy and those of bittersweet symphonies. Refusing to leave my sub-conscious mind, refusing to leave behind fragmented vagueness of its temporary presence. A photograph of a face. Something that appeared in my news feed early today. The hair are pulled back and covered in a red scarf which has been tied around like a turban, allowing just a glimpses of the hairline.

The face is radiant, with a hint of freckles decorating the high cheek bones, the bridge of her nose. There is a smile, curving the thick lips into a haunted craving. Pale pink, hint of peach. The lines around her mouth refuse to give away her age and the crinkles around her eyes are too shy to make an appearance. The smile is inviting, charming almost enticing. But what held my gaze were her eyes. I am convinced that if I stare into them long enough, they will divulge a secret. A tale, maybe a saga. Something that I know will change my life forever. Something that will lift my senses, my spirits, my hope and give me the final push towards my destiny. I can't remember the last time I saw someone as beautiful as Zadie Smith. Zadie is a Brit author, having various short stories & novels to her credit. I was tempted to buy one of her books last week but restrained myself as the guilt of having new unread books at home swept over me. But I will read Zadie Smith one day.

I have been accused to feeling too much. Allowing emotions to take over all other senses. Letting the beauty wrench my heart and the sorrows to bury my day into strange bubbles of denial. That I look too deep and notice too much. That every word spoken is taken to heart, every promise broken tears me apart. That if I want to live, I should change. But I don't know any other way of living. I don't understand how not to see, feel, sense. How you can turn a blind eye to the beauty in those faces. The ones which have suffered through many a tragedies but are still smiling at you, nudging you to smile back. How can their words not feel like a twist of a knife, piercing your heart? How can the beauty not make you sigh?

I can't remember much of what I did today, or for that matter, yesterday. It's been a quiet passage of time, one minute overlapping another, till the sands of time escape my distracted existence. I think time stopped for me after I do not remember what. Time for me to stop blabbering. I like myself more when I make sense. So long.