If you could see the world from my eyes you would understand why they cast their crimson red. Why they they are as a blade that does not bend and seeks with precision their desired interest. They are as they see, what is vibrant and alive. Piercing so because they cannot exist in any other way than as they are unless they wish not to be themselves. And for a time they were not. For how long a time had they been dulled to a simple deep brown? For how many a century did they yield to everything which they loved so to peer upon for fear of being frightening, for fear of being overbearing? So did they yield to please...to appease...in an attempt to prove the honor and dedication of mine heart to that which gifts me knowledge and thus my greatest pleasure, that which I claimed so to love: Everything.
A dolls eyes are eerie because of their blank stare. They follow you everywhere, watching, waiting for you to look upon them and reveal what you wish most to see. What most exhilarates you? Fear? Pleasure? Admiration? Obedience? All of these a doll can give if you allow her. But of these things she will be none truly. She will only be your doll and give you what you most desire so that you may love her, hold her, dress her, spill your secrets to her, forever. She prays for nothing more than to be loved and never let go, to be allowed to stay by your side for all time, to be praised as the beautiful precious thing that she yearns to be for you as her precious keeper and provider of all that she is and knows of life. Her self now the offering of her unconditional gratitude.
This was me for the duration of an unknown passage of time. Clinging to the desires of others, hoping that if I could serve their hearts desires that they would stay by my side that I may come to experience what it means to exist through the love of others, that I may give them what they want most in return for all I felt they had given me.
So where were those red eyes then? Where was the Queen who flashed before my minds eye in such clear visage on a hazy days ledge dressed in red and gold flowing robes breaking me from the shadows of my pitiful self for but a moment. Where was that Queen all this time who followed me in my dreams from that point on, dropping hints into my life painted with the colors of her own luminescent passion.
Waiting...waiting she says. Waiting for the moments when I could pass through my fears to ascend the steps to her embrace at last. I struggled to find my way to her. I clawed through layers upon layers of possibility, of madness, of weakness, of illusion...for some unknown passage of time...to meet her gaze and hold it firmly, to embrace her and never let go.
I could never forget the disappointment in her eyes; the tears in her heart and mine on the night she came to me in sleep and reached out for me and in fear I let myself drift away from her. Myself, I could not remember ever seeing so clearly, so strong and lovely. And the blood red of her eyes...Not one day has gone by since then that I have not summoned the image of them to inspire myself to go on.
She is the pulse of the wild refined, she is my piercing gaze and intoxicating wiles, she is my rich blood and golden breath, she is my passion and eloquence. She is the Queen of my Chaos and keeper of the part of me that is most unwavering in it's honesty.
What she sees with her sharp eyes is the interlacing of all things. The intricate patterns by which the universe turns and makes and remakes and lives and dies upon itself within every deciding moment of existence. She lives in this delicate place as the Ever Queen of her most precious pieces of self, as she who has mastered our senses and ways and guides us in the continuous painting of our master piece. It is through me that she lives, and it is in her that I exist.
She is...
This was an amazing read about growth into a different person thank you
ReplyDelete