Thursday, March 11, 2010

Shea Butter

It was one of those pre-spring days, where the biting cold of winter had been left behind, and the air was filled with that unending wind that tends to blowdry the world free of any traces of snow.

I realize I've mostly been writing about Love, and perhaps it has been a tedious monologue, and so to break the spell, I will, yes, write about something else.

Seasonally, it couldn't have been more beautiful, the temperature in double digits, the sun actually burning bright - it was surely the recipe for the Perfect Day.

The only thing was, the fog of the night before remained prsent over the city as thick blankets of gray cloud, obscuring the translucent blue skies, the bright sun, and consequently rendering the pleasant wind with a chill taht brutally ruined the overall effect.

Just one element, can you imagine, could wreak such a difference between discomfort and comfort, between imperfection and perfection, from attaining paradise, to remaining an undiscovered utopia.

It wasn't as if it were a horrid day - the sadness of the situation was in fact that it was so close, and yet couldn't be had. One could feel the very potential the sun had to offer, in the very way the clouds glowed while hiding it behind its folds. And one would seek, yearn, crave, almost ache for the feel of that sunshine to be allowed the burst through and grant that happiness.

But unlike the act of opening an umbrella to keep off the rain, there was nothing I could do to persuade the sun to shine through. All I could do was believe that it would. Because in the same way I knew that it would be glorious when unveiled, and therefore yearned for it so much more, that same glory of its strength would have the power to dispell the clouds that concealed it. So I would wait. Because, it would just be maybe all the more worth it when it did happen. And if it didn't, then maybe it wasn't just meant to be a sunny day that day, and perhaps, just perhaps, darkness was my luck. But I would wait.

And, so I wrote about something else this time. I can tell you honestly, I wrote about the weather. But I would be lying if I said I did not write about love.

By the way, the sun shone through.                   

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