A Prelude to The Story !!

As cool water splashed upon her closed eyes, a deep breath let the day rush through her mind. Watching the rays of time racing past every thought. . .

Suddenly the urge to tell a story ran down  the droplets of water that caressed  her body, which she now desired not to see. Was it age ? Was it loss of insight or just plain routine boredom . Whichever way the arrow pointed, the story lurked around. Buzzing around her ears , eager to be given life.

Trees of sun kissed shadows now took over her lost gaze. Seeing imaginary images of a great desert. Rocks, caves, waterfalls and the big blue sky. All wandered by just two feet, hardly in a hurry. Strolling down empty barren land was  like a feather in a thorn bush as the bliss that solitude offered was unmatched thus far.

An occasional smirk, a redesigned thought and a humble acceptance of the way the sun sets every evening. Inflamed by the hope in her heart..she wondered if the deserted desert would reclaim its solitude and bring back the magic that she once felt...Could the presence of the hovering hawk mean nothing more than company ? And would every shadow be befriended with Love ??

Life..... All of a sudden seemed like too big a word.

The sun had set yet again.

Her past came flashing back in frames. Some summed up while others were hanging loosely, waiting to be ribboned.

Her brow frowned a thought .... 

Which story to tell ?

The clouds had dusted down not one but many shadowed stories split by the dispersion of a prism. A partiality ran through her short curly hair swaying towards every tear that had ever been born. Not a single tear could be forgotten...ever. For the doors to the garden of Forgotten were closed permanently.

Every irking, lingering n memorable carcass searched for its key, to be unlocked...looking under every mornings sun for a passage.

As she sat, head bent into her lap and an occasional brush aside of a wavy lock of hair, she smiled at the queer place that life had dropped her in.

The debacles of human relationships. The knots and crosses. The maliciously good people. The mazes. Could simplicity ever take a stance ?

The cracks in the ground got smaller and deeper. The mystery that lay below these cracks only smoked out puffs of loneliness and yet the game felt fairer than ever.

To a true heart, there would be no lies, there would be no cheating.. Just the bliss of utmost truth.

Perhaps the story of the future was yet to be lived ... And the story of yesterday was meant to be told..

A single finger curled a lock ... She had a story to tell..... For now.. She breathed. . .
As she contemplated on a fact that could never be debated .... 





She.............was the story !