the threads in her head

lemon trust-

She recalled vividly the first day your eyes set on me. Or perhaps, she had idealized the image. In my mind, she saw those soft eyes settling gently on her, before hovering off, and then coming back to meet her eyes, startled. He looked on, straight into her eyes, before walking towards her, and with one embrace pulled her in straight into his warmth. His mouth whispered fervently into her ears, giving promises, reassuring her that he would nurture her into a talent, to mold her into someone whom all would respect and admire. In his warmth, she didn’t realize how coolly he had saw through the eyes she tried to make glint with a hard light, and saw the hovering wide-eyes innocence behind.

She believed him then. Loved him even.

All she knew was his warmth, the accepting warmth that enveloped her so eagerly – that embracing warmth that could only speak of goodness and no evil. He not to be marred, but to be kept pure, and she defended you with an almost sacred passion whenever someone spoke badly of him. She thought she was all-knowing, and shook her heads whenever others hurled harsh comments along her way, thinking that they were all just jealous. Jealous of him. Jealous of him and her. Jealous of them. Ah yes, she thought she could see the vivid green shining in them eyes, glittering with envy that it was her in his embrace, constantly. It was her in his arms, and they could only watch from afar. Afar, and not in his arms. Only now did she realised she had closed my eyes and surrendered myself to blindness.

So this blind love went on, strong and unwavering in the full glory of its blindness. And this blinded heart only swelled even more when he promised he would go that one step further. Just for her. He looked into her eyes, held her by the shoulders, and told her, earnestly, that he would allow her to pursue her interest, supporting her in all her future endeavours. The delicious spark of joy ran through her – she was thrilled beyond words. She looked back at him, and nodded.

And so she went on for a while, drunk with the sweet subtle wine of his words. “I will support you, whatever you choose to do”

But, no story was ever told without a “but”. No tale speaks of a smooth journey, of people who had it easy all their life.

She came running into him, straight into his arms, and with joyous eyes told him she had decided. Pulling his arms apart, she spun out into the wide expanse of his office space, taking a tiny leap and twirling herself about, her laugher twinkling around the room. And she turned back to him, held his hands, and spoke to him of her interest. It had taken time and effort, strength and courage to come to that decision. But with his support, she could go through anything, however unconventional, however unorthodox, however the great gaping difference between her interest and the essence of what she currently undertook in his care.

His smile turned into a sudden frown at the first sentence she uttered. Things were not playing out his way, and his eyes showed a sudden confusion. He turned round from her, and stood still, reviewing the pieces left on the chessboard of his playing field. Arranging the features of his handsome face back into a attractive smile, he turned round to face her, and placed his strong hands onto her shoulders. He looked straight into her eyes again, just like the way he did the first time he saw her, and said ever so soft and gently, “Are you sure? Would you rather not stick with something you’re used to and have worked with? It might be better for you to build your strengths based on what you’re comfortable with.” Each vowel was accented with calculated care, love, gentleness.

She looked back into his eyes. A hard light came into her own eyes, by its own accord. And she pulled away from him, knowing that she only had one statement to say. “You said you would support me, whatever I choose to do”

“Ah yes, I know I did. But this was indeed unexpected; it is a strange choice for a lady to make,” he replied flippantly, raising his hands to stroke back the hair that had fallen into her eyes.

And with that one movement, light shone into her eyes, and she was able to see, clearly. And she started laughing, more struck by the hilarity of the situation than the realisation that she had been duped.

The efforts of years, to ensure that such a thing would not happen, were all but nought. And her brain spins and spins with that sour sensation at the back of her throat and head, as if the freshly squeezed juice of yellow yellow lemons was sliding down her mouth, pickling everywhere it touched, right down to the very core of her heart, shrivelling it into an unrecognisable pit.

She was just a puppet at the end of the day.

//the stuff you find when looking through old files..