I saw her tears curvedly crawling on her face that is palely yellow like the color of a vintage candle, stored in the sideboard of a grandma’s house with loose bricks and wall papers of lifted corners, which the once-melted wax froze in confusion for further directions. Fortunately, though, her black hair that lacks any proper polish for days was able to interrupt such river flow by firmly sticking to her face with the occasional help of some acne. However, they were not the best fighters when running toward the pieces and pieces of red rashes attempted to take over the yellow continent. The intensity of the growth only reminded me of locusts sweeping across the whole Northern Africa to sail across the Euphrates and Tigris Rivers aiming for the highest pole of planet earth. And I, with all the power, energy, strength, and courage I could seek by kneeling down to my feet with my forehead almost touching hers, looked up into her eyes.
Her eyes were nothing like what Dior would intend to capture, if asked to present an Asia lady in their Haute Couture. Her eyes were exactly the opposite. They might be able to be traced to her Arabic ancestors who bravely traveled for the fortune of ChangAn during the Tang Dynasty and stayed for miracles of love. But something was wrong. And it was unsatisfying and disturbing. There were not enough blood streaks in them; the eyeballs are not moving fast enough to show horror; and they were too stable, too calm, too isolated from my face and this pain that is erupting inside my body, splitting the muscles on my heart.
I was furious.
I demanded her facial muscles to be contorted and tortured. I demanded the flow of liquors to be heavier, so that the red rash can reach to its peak on her cheek. I wanted her to tear her clothes into pieces, then rub them onto the floor. I wanted her to be chocked by her own difficult breath in between uninterrupted cry-out. Finally, the tears filled my eyes and blurred my visions that used to observe her.
The mirage of a baby girl approached to me. She was calm, peaceful, satisfied, and stable. She was impressed by her own appearance; she was happy because of the fine dress that was on her; and she was confident about the day that was going to arrive. Then, she was a bit worried of seeing herself inside the mirror, as she worried that no one could understand her joy and feel her excitement like she could, not even the identical twin sister inside the mirror who was just a replica that is nothing beyond her body and face. She started to grow terrified of her loneliness. It makes her sad that her emotions are forever locked and ultimately lost in this cage called self. The crowd of people including her mother, father, and best friend at the time, started to approach her, distant her, then re-approach her, and then re-distant her, like the rise and fall of the tides, narrowing the room for herself inch by inch.
She was being invaded. Yet, before she could ever recognize this. The tears dried.
Now, there was nothing left but hollowness inside her dilating pupils.
I piled up and folded my arms as closely as possible around my shoulders to give her a hug. She was as exhausted as I am.