Mirage in a smoldering night. Cooking my unstable emotions on heated grills with tears and salt dressing. I stand alone at a train station looking up to a stale, wintry sky. Waiting for that sudden burst of energy, my salvation from this sullen black hole. Waiting for that train to run on cold, dead iron tracks. To run on the alloy of my numb pain and restless desperation. To color the world rosy with the crimson blood of my sinful soul. I wait.
I lament about my bygones. My treacherous path. My broken strength. The clock turns backward. Shoving me, choking me into my past. My mistakes float like unwanted smog, blocking the sunlight to reach my empty, clanking shell.
I look around bidding time to my death. Play hide and seek with the demons one last time. Fade from the world like an emptying sand clock. Say goodbye to the world the only way I know how.
I stare at the migrating world. People hopping on and off. Smile, laughter and cheer sprinkled in the air. But none reaching my void. My shell slowly cracking. Race against time, I look at my wrist watch. Death calling out to me. It stands at the exit of this materialistic world laden with glues and tapes; to block my creaks, to empty my sorrows.
Unforeseen a glare of white beam snags my attention. Crossing the prism of my desolation to drench me in a spectrum of vulnerability. Coaxing me towards itself. No, not the light from the faraway Eiffel Tower glistening in the dark. My eyes crinkle. My sole aim then to find and butcher it, so it may never shine again. But then I see a magic trick. I see a figure smiling at me. At me? At an ugly ball of agitation and nerves.
Eyes bluer than the path to heaven hidden in the sky. Hair, curly waves of turbulent ocean. And that smile, my personal paradise. Curved upwards, splashing me in odes. Involuntary, unpretentious smile carve my face in unaccustomed angle. Butterflies hip-hop in my stomach, making me feel more alive than the first bloom on a spring’s dawn.
My trance broken by slaughter whistle. Train advent marking termination of this momentary high. I look back again, searching for my angel. Addicted to that light, I search. But my ray of sunshine lost in this overgrowing forest.
Train whistles again. My decision still pending. Life or death. Exit or entrance out of this Shakespeare’s play.
Death to arrive in two precious seconds. What do I do?
Can a crushed flower bloom again? Can a broken mirror provide reflection? Can a desolate daisy capture the sun’s affection?
Yes, she can.
My feet glued to this jungle, that blaring horn of train arriving at the train station, a soothing music of a still tide after a tsunami. Verdict announced by the jury, my track reversed. Life ahead, death lost in the sea of sanguinity.
This mirage after all broken by a stranger in Paris.