Silent BLOOM

Her gaze is sad, it transmits to me a certain melancholy, a certain suffering, a deep pain drilling through her soul (abandonment, perhaps? rejection?). The instant I saw her, I couldn’t help but love her gaze—to my eyes, the countenance of a saint, of a martyr, for a mere mortal quickly transforms suffering into rage, their gaze becomes shrouded in hatred and fury, or else, as a product of neurosis, the eyes turn tremulous, altered, or even absent. Those who embrace suffering deserve heaven.

After a few seconds I noticed her smile, and I neither jest nor exaggerate when I say I had never seen a more beautiful smile, which upon her face abounded. In my eyes, this smile was a sail on a vessel amid a tempestuous sea, battered by implacable tides, yet still standing tall, like a symbol of struggle and resistance, a declaration of intent against her inner demons.

How could I not fall hopelessly before her? In fact, in that very instant I crumbled, I melted. I, a selfish being, apathetic, taciturn… for a moment I felt the need to dedicate my life to that smile, to dedicate my days and nights to seeing it shine genuinely. No longer as an act of struggle, not forced or as a display of will and rebellion, but as a smile arising from the joy of being alive, from happiness.