The light spilled over her cheeks
as if God had knocked over a water glass.
It trickled down over her right eyebrow,
over the bridge of her nose,
falling to the left ever so slightly
until it reached her bottom lip.

To my unfocused eyes,
she was an angel.
I blinked the sleep out of my eyes,
taking in shallow breaths
as if any sudden move might disturb her surface.
Ripples on a pond
I thought if I touched her she might burst apart,
and dissolve into a million tiny pieces of air.

I couldn’t move.

But she could.

With a slight furrow of her brow
and a fluttering of eyelashes
she faced me.
She didn’t look onto my face
but rather traced my outline with her gaze.

"Forgive me,"

she said quietly.

"There is nothing more beautiful than you are over your shoulder but I find I cannot meet your eyes.”

Infectious cravings strike,
Day by day materializing,
Away from purity and humanity,
Somewhere, infatuating over labels and glamour,
Does it matter that people are dying?
Silent echoes of the wind swirl pass,
It's the shop's they are gathered around-
Where you hear only people engage and sounds of clitter clatter.

A dead body I met, she was someone who everyone did forget,
Whenever she complained, the only thing she did later was regret .
Her eyes had grown tired of being wet, thus decided not to weep,
A day for her was hard to realize, that sun did set, without eye's wept.
Horrified with being happy, that night she couldn't sleep,
Her past was dangerous, was mysterious , exactly like her, every layer deep.
She was helpless, she was hopeless, she was direction-less
She even was lifeless,i saw and turned depress and she in my mind did creep..
There were so many cuts on her body, yet it seemed section- less..
She knew what was right and what was wrong, yet she was action -less .
She had been stuck with some disgrace, was visible on her face,
Her simplicity in a complex world, seemed aimless,
It wasn't painless, but because she didn't want to part of a race,
She wore an anklet, made up of needles and lace,
With the caption "77", as her dead body's grace..
I wanted to console her, but before that she was gone,
**** these winters, I had turned this idiotic hot shower on ..

Interlude.

What's your favourite colour?"
A question that has lived with me throughout my entire years.
With confidence I said "purple"
They always asked me why. I never really gave them the most appropriate answer. Mainly because when I was young, purple made me feel different. Girls were always expected to love a certain pink, to always follow that order. Purple made me feel superior.
Made me all sorts of different.
Always a good different.

Little did I know.

Purple stains*.

Tomorrow is a day closer to our day.
Everyday is a day closer to ours.

I sit on this wooden chair,
Listening to it creak as my body makes a frontward backward motion.
I stare aimlessly at the road ahead.
Wondering.
Always wondering.

"Annoyed with the World?" she puts her tiny soft hands on my shoulder.
Making me feel the heat radiating from her.
I continue to look forward. Already knowing where she's going at.

"The perks of being an Eccedentist",she whispers.
"The secret of this pain lies deep within but can only be seen by our kind".
I sigh, massaging my temples. Not really feeling the need to hear what more she has to say.
In attempt to run away, I pick my heavy battered body up and start to walk away.
She chuckles light hearted "Running again I guess?"
"How long will you deny these stains? How long will your body handle them? Don't run away. Talk to me"

Her words remind me of a certain everybody. Always telling me that they want to listen.
To comfort me.
But they don't understand, I'm not trying to get pity or supposed heartfelt advice.
I don't want that.

I continue to walk away from her, counting every step that takes me further from her view.

"I am in pain", I whisper to the winds.
"I've got bruises so deep that they have turned into scars. The kind that stains every part of me"
"I want to cry", I slouch my body.
"But what point is it to waste my tears on someone that has put me on hold? Should I really be doing this. Crying so loud for love that existed only for their benefit"
"I'm an instrument of pain", I laugh.
"He is my composer. With each stroke, with each beat. He creates harmonious symphonies that leave the crowd bewildered. He creates a wave of sensual vocals that lead me breathless and in pain"
"People love his work, they love to listen to the beats of my drained heart,  the soft strum of my throaty voice", I sigh.

My body is at halt. I can no longer continue to walk.
With that, I fall heavy on my knees.
Hands on the rough sand.
Head trying to bury itself deeper.
"Everyday is a day closer to ours", I cry.

My body shakes feverishly letting out the pain.
My throat cracks in attempt to let my voice be heard.
My heart shatters even more. My mind flustered and goes black.
My eyes are bloodshot, but no tears.
It's only been a few months but it feels like years.
Holding on to him. To this pain.
I try to get a grip onto the soil but my body fails.
I fall, now laying on the ground.
Whispering, crying to it.
Finally letting someone in.

"I told you, that only I understand you", she crouches and releases a small smile.

She squints her eyes and croaks her head.
"What's your favourite colour? "

I keep quiet. Not from embarrassment but from exhaustion of this cycle. I'm always caught at my worst.
Why must I always be caught.

"No answer", She sighs
"How do you expect to get over this if you don't talk? " she whispers harshly

I sigh, I shut my eyes in hopes for her to disappear.
I can't handle playing to her. For her own comfort that her life is somewhat better than mine.
This instrument, is worn out.

"I'm still here you know. And I'm not trying to save you. I could never do that. I'm not him",I hear
"I just can't watch you break down like this anymore. I don't want you to feel what I felt", she coughs.
"I'm not here for saving. If you refuse to talk of your pain at least let me in on your favourite colour ", she pleads.

"Purple", I murmur

"Just like the colour of your stains",she laughs.

Born through a ******,
Symbolising how pure he had to be..
How perfect he would live to be worthy of dying for all our sins..
Holy above all humanity so that if we repent in his name,we may live in his righteousness.
Glory be to the prince of peace,
Oh hail the King! Bless the Lord!
We commemorate his birth because of his greatness beyond measure... Love too big and grace too deep.