Wednesday, December 24, 2014

The home

The observer sat on a park bench, sweaty and exhausted. Her hands were angry and red from lugging all her belongings to her new house. Ah, house. It was not home. Never home.
House was empty. A house had nothing in it just. A house had no colours, no happiness, no warmth. A home was never empty. It had everything in it. A home was where you could find little pieces of yourself. It was the place where you feel like you belong.
The observer never belonged anywhere. The observer had learnt a long time ago to pack her life into a single bag. She had learnt to move on, never get attached.The observer panted and looked up. She saw two people in front of her. She looked at them distractedly, sure that there was nothing more she could learn from them.
Until she saw the woman gaze at the man.
The gaze was something that made the observer shiver. It was not just about love. It was about knowing everything about the other. It was about knowing more than what is there to know.
The woman was tall, regal, beautiful in a way that made you want to look at her forever. The man had a face that was impossible to not to like. Open, honest. Happiness shone through it.

Knowing a person is more than just seeing the good in a person. Its seeing the ugly in it.
And the look that the woman gave the man was not just all about unadulterated happiness. It was not one of levitating happiness. It was not of having a perfect life which was filled with rainbows and unicorns and roses and remembered birthdays.
It was about the little things that would go wrong. About things that keep annoying you. The things you want to change about a person. The things that you grow to live with eventually. The little things that you grow to love eventually.
It was about hurt. A lot of heart ache. Of believing that they were never going to make it.
It was about things about everything crashing down at their feet. Of losing their homes. Of losing themselves. Of losing each other.
But it was also about building themselves back again. About fixing themselves up, relying on each other. Depending on each other's strength.
The beauty of true love is that you learn to love what lies beneath the mask that we wear even if we don't know what it actually is.
Together they walked into the house, determined to make it more than home.
And outside, the observer watched, her life wrapped into a single bag. Ready to move on already.

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