She earnestly looked for a way to state the obvious. This was the
one she could lay down her life for or so she said. But did she? Who
knows. The only reality she ever left behind was that she existed
once.
He was aloof. Who would bother looking
for the girl-next-door who happened to be his only confidant for as
long as he could remember until the fall out happened. Thereafter it
was more of a "Jane who?".
Pages. The slide-out brick in her
closet held all her secrets. Cursive in blue, italics in green, bold
in black and his name 'Eric' in red. Perhaps, the girl who was
forever clad in black did love colors after all. But there was
something else she loved more. No points for guesses.
One mess of a suit that was. Black,
thank goodness he had one. His brown pillow-styled hair missed her
fingers running through. Did he? Be glad he even bothered to be here
at all leaving that half-clad woman in his bed, the one he met at the
bar last night.
Her script was beautiful. That was the
only thing someone marched up to say for her empty-casket farewell.
The four-letter eulogy of a girl who loved to write.
But where was she?
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Where would you go when you know no one
is ever going to look for you? She tried taking refuge in words. Day
by day she lost herself in the world someone once created. To her it
was just, to her this was sanest of the sane she could imagine. Then
one day she started carving one out for herself, a world of her own.
Imagination was magic. Words were her wand. Fire and ice couldn't
have had a better hybrid. Her eyes were embers, her kiss was death.
Not many get to pen their own eulogy.
Even if they do, they don't live to see it being read.
.
.
.
"To you she was weed.
To the world she is rose."
...goes the first page of an
extraordinary title that has been penned by someone going by the name
Rose.
"Jane: A cry" went on to be the fastest bestseller of the decade.
.
.
.
Eight years later.
One mess of a suit that was. Black, yes
the same one you are guessing. His brown pillow-styled hair missed
her fingers running through. Did he?
He finally did love. That was the only
thing she marched up to say for his close-casket farewell. The only
eulogy for a guy who traveled the world to find this girl he loved
only to finally meet his end right by her door.
A speeding car signed his fate.
Rose Jane Eric Mathews is how she now
signs her name.
© 2014 Neha Choudhry
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| Image source: Tumblr |
