Here sleeps a girl with a head full of magical dreams, a heart full of wonder and hands that will shape the world
– Sleeping Beauty
Damn, you are so beautiful. My angel, my beautiful angel. Heaven only knows how many a hours I have spent beholding your tender face, kissing you in your slender slumber, caressing you with every gaze. I have never seen anything, natural nor divine that sis but half as beautiful as my lovely dear. You are but a little piece of heaven god left with me.
For those among you, who by superiority of your intentions are well on your way to let the authorities know that a certain creepy stalker is on the loose. Stop! I pray. I ain’t no pervert nor a creep (that may be up for debate) . I am but one such rare breed of a guy who is so in love in with his wife that watching her fall asleep in you arms is the one thing he looks forward to most everyday, One who just cant help buy gaze at her face and melt as snow at when the slightest hint of a smile dawns on her face.
Time is a strange thing, when you are in love. One could hardly believe how it flies and how it morphs around you. I can but hardly believe that it has been over 7 years since when I first met her, 6 since I first kissed her and eternities since I started loving her and of course 1 since we married. I have known her forever, from lifetimes before and will for lifetimes hence. Even now, every single day I feel as if it was just yesterday that we first met.
Those moments have become so magnificently romanticised, like the balcony in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet our places are no more just blips on the maps but stuffs of lore and serenades. Our stories have been told so many times that they are are now much myth and some essential fact.
I don’t want to write another ode to my beau, have I not written enough of that already. But then for what avail is this piece written, but for the being another ode to she; my love, my muse.
What is March to me is a far better question than who is March? Do I know march and how do I know march are even better questions and quite frankly I can’t answer the later duo, simply because I do not know the answers to them. March is an enigma to me, a bewildering and mind blowing puzzle. The truth is that she never existed and if she did her existence was more ethereal that the mirage in the mid-day sun. She exists and she doesn’t at the same time, She is and she is not at the same time, yet she persists like a ghost upon my memory, entangling me into the abysmal oblivion of not knowing who she is and why she came into my life and whether she came into my life at all or is it all nothing but the delusions of a deranged mind?
Any story or any sentence about March must be abstract and shall only be abstract not because I intent to protect the identity of an otherwise domineering public presence from stigma but because she is as elusive to me as she is to you by these abstract words. Her existence for me is just as abstract and doubtful. There are times I scrutinize my sanity for what had happened that fateful day when destiny played the tune of fate going rogue.
I saw her, her eyes pierced into mine like the splinters from a shattered shell. Hungry for vengeance they struck me deep and painfully in the depths of my tattered heart. I cried in unheard agony when the heavens itself must have turned deaf that day. Then she smiled at me her smile spreading inside my body like death upon a famished being and bestowing me with a warmness of the ultimate awareness. Alas disappointment again waits for me, the most peaceful of seconds ceased to exist soon enough as all good things. She came and she went in a fragment of time that was far too small that between dream and reality the lines began to blur.
The truth is that I do not know whether I had lived through March or not, I do not know whether March is an enigma or a truth like the lives under the sun. But what march was and what I know March to be, is that march is the beacon of light from a domain unknown that signaled to me that all is not lost and life is yet to exist. March showed me in the twilight between life and death, between despair and hope, between dream and reality that my destiny is yet to be written and my gardens of love are yet to see the spring.
More From this Series : My Long Love Story
February Part I
February Part II