Crédits : Sarah Caswell
The searing light of the sun is kicking on my window glass, turning my room into a lustrous place. My books are strewn on the floor and my clothes are everywhere except in my cupboard. The windowsill is covered with dust that I had no time to clean. As they say, sleep is the brother of death. A minute ago I was held by that bulky plaid. The shadows of obscurity lingered way too long in my eyes, I couldn't even bear the shimmering lamp on the nightstand. Despite the warm weather, chills are covering up my whole body. I put my feet on the ground, the silky texture of the mat against my skin is short-timed bliss. As I battle with the den of thoughts, my eyes catch the gleaming day, it's way too fervent for my dull and weary gaze. It's the beginning of the day I had yesterday. Hellebore. I dwelled on it. Its beauty is as poisonous as its nature. There is a mirror three steps ahead from my bed. It's as tall as the height of my room's wall. I grasp the thought I get when I gaze at my body in that mirror. That thought is bitter just like the hellebore. But I seem to have no power over the poisonous words in my head while the flower is sitting meekly on my windowsill, letting me relish its charm without any harm. I push away those obscure thoughts and head to take a bath. My perception is a paradox and I'm a living one. My skin, my body seems ravishing, yet I long for emerald in my eyes and voluminous skin. I'm as searing as that hellebore bearing the sunlight, yet I yearn for something that isn't me. The hot water falls over me to ease my sore muscles and my labored mind. My heartbeat is finding its usual rhythm back smoothly. Fluid, pouring over my skin is like invading an overwhelming well with no ground. The haze is settling on the glass of my looking-glass. I step out of the tub. Again, chills find their way on my wet and quailing flesh pushing me to dress, giving me no time to contemplate what I do not like enough. How ironic...
Bitter thoughts are like people fighting for their cause with a spear.
Outside, the breeze is grasping my face with its silky touch. I’m wearing a shade that I find exalting. It’s lapis lazuli, the color of my skirt. Followed by an extreme black polo neck casting a huge contrast. I’m fond of this ultramarine color that mesmerizes me by its intensity of blue, shimmered by the golden shards of pyrite, giving an archaic portrait. I enter the bus and hurry up to the last seat next to the window. It’s my spot or at least my spot for an ephemeral moment. Looking out the window, I observe other bodies, and souls and wonder if they ever felt like me. I don’t know about it but what I’m sure of is that we all have something in common: changing endlessly, flowing with the rhythm of time. We are all wearing a mask, a mask expressing the feeling of being untouched, unblemished.
Helleborus, the bold glory shining even, in the shakingly vicious cold, on the snowy earth ball.
It’s been half an hour, I’m on the bus, resting my weary eyes. The next stop is mine. Have you ever questioned your existence? What kind of life are you gonna make? How can our feelings not fade despite changing endlessly?
Getting off the bus, the gusts of wind wrap me up like they were waiting for me to show up.
I start walking to the canal side. Christmas decorations are one of a kind in the dusky time.
Bright lights all around the trees, their reflection on the dark water is crystal clear. But right now at dawn, the lights are off and the magic is gone. The sun has lost its way in the clouds, painting the scenery grey. I put on some music to create a vivid flash of light in the landscape that gives such a plain look. The notes floating in the thin air are waking up the fire lost in me for a while. Ashley was born.
Written by Lilith.
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