A Vision In Blue

The window was stained with memories of the past. I sat, listlessly, my head resting on the windowsill. The downpour outside the window matched the beating of my heart. Waiting was sweet agony. Would she come? The rain was her favorite; each droplet of heaven meant to absolve the Earth of its torment. Looking at the droplets I remember a time in another era when she used to waltz in the rain, in happiness, and in pain, because it was easier to hide the droplets on her face in the water falling from a place where there is no suffering. All I now know is despair; the happiness receding further out of my reach.

Were those footsteps I heard? Water splashing as she jumped in a puddle? Oh, she was beautiful, the girl of my dreams. With the perfect life and her smile so bright, it eclipsed the Sun; she was the epitome of magnificence and carefree. Nothing to hold her back, she would frolic about in her blue polka-dotted frock, the blue of her dress deeper than the sea and brighter than the morning sky in a dazzling Sun. The vivacity in her eyes sparkled and she wasn’t afraid to play with fire. That was before she was held captive by the ways of the world, lost as she traversed the meandering byways of life.

My heart pounding in my chest, I look out, almost sure I heard her calling my name, the smile in her voice brightening up the dull grey. Where are you? Well, she did love a good game of hide and seek. Smiling I go back to languidly looking out the window, my head swimming with the thoughts of the girl who stole my heart unknowingly and irrevocably. She was bound to go places; her legs tired carrying her free self but never giving way. Her mind flew higher and everywhere, never too frightened to discover. In her, lived a raconteur, ready to build the most improbable but breathtaking stories at every step of life. She could live her life lost in her own stories, the real-life too mundane for her wayfaring mind and heart. Her tinkling laughter and light footsteps created a sound louder than the rumbling thunder, her eyes brighter than the lightning. I see her often in my dreams, unchanged and goddess-like, meant for reverence.

She was a dreamer, unlike me. She lived her life everywhere but where she was. The wind in her hair made them fly higher than a bird, looking as if it tried to grasp onto the unknown. Terror or tears couldn’t make her eyes blink, fire always lingering in their depths; love always more bright than any other emotion in her eyes. Nothing could stop her sprinting legs meant to fly and not walk. She was illusory, like a nymph, one minute here, the next faraway. I look out expectantly again, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, hidden behind the trees, drenching in the rain as the blue clung to her body; laughing at the world, taunting everything trying to hold her back.

“I am giving away this blue polka-dotted frock. You don’t fit in it and this is very juvenile too. You have become mature and know better than to wear this.” I hear a voice saying to me. I almost yell ‘what if she comes?’ but my voice is choked by my own emotions. She will never come, will she? Sudden desperation makes me frantic as I try to reach the window bars and fly out of it. A heavy pull makes me stumble back, my legs shackled and my heart filled by a nameless fear. I hear her lilting voice, laughing and calling out to me, taunting and provoking me to break everything in my quest of her and the color she loved so much, but I just keep falling back, getting sucked into a grey whirlpool. Blue was her favorite color, the color of the sky because like a bird she didn’t know the limit and wanted to fly high.