Chaos and dark colors

There is a shrill noise coming from her right. Men are drilling on strong cement shaping and reshaping it. The house has cracked walls, history is flowing through the cracks. The men are mending the cracked walls, history is perishing in the process. The breaking and rebuilding has been going on for two months now. Her ears which had been disgusted by the noise in the initial days, is now indifferent to it, accepting it the way humans accept their destiny.

As the dust covers the grass, the mosaic floor, the clocks and the books, everything ages before its time. She wonders what amount of time it takes to mend and reshape cracked minds. Days? Weeks? Months? Eternity? Houses with cracked walls eventually shatter into debris, spilling the history into the atmosphere, into fluffy white clouds. How long before people with cracked minds shatter into pieces? How long before their dark red blood spills on the mosaic floors revealing everything, setting everything free? Days? Weeks? Months? One Day?

Most of her clothes are black and she doesn’t even like black. Most of her clothes are handed down by her sister. Some of her clothes are bought by her and bears the memory of calculating the money left in a thin wallet. Other clothes are gifted to her on her winning something. Wins that would mean nothing in a few years’ time, but the euphoria of which would linger in her memory and her words. In a few years the trophies would still be on the showcase, slowly oxidizing, slowly losing the gold color. But the good memories would still be fresh in her mind, keeping her from crumbling down, keeping her from losing her balance.

On most days we accept the things we can’t change and on some days we cry out and yell until our throat hurts. Do our voices reach the farthest tree visible in the horizon, do our voices merge with the sound of waves crashing on the shore, or does it get trapped in the cracks of the walls? On good days she says that she is happy. On bad days she says that she is trying to be happy.

She knows about Alexander and Hephaestion because she has read about love. She knows about Dido and Aeneas because she has read about loss. She loves him with her guards down because she knows it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.

On good days she reads, goes to work, cooks, swims, jogs, loves and smiles. On bad days she does the same. She believes in a routine and a purpose, yet on some bad days she lays in the bed and walks in an unknown neighborhood. She looks at an unknown flower and hopes for a better day the next day.

She loves herself as much as she loves him. She is kind to herself as much as she is kind to a child. On good days she wears perfume and makeup and admires herself in the mirror. On bad days she wears loose clothes and admires herself in the mirror. ‘ For anyone to love you, you need to love yourself first.’ She says to everyone. It is her life mantra – self love. Self Love.

Eventually, she will get rid of all her black clothes. Eventually, the drilling noise would stop. Eventually, her cracks would be filled. Eventually, the trophies would get lost and she would not miss the materialistic representation of her victories. Eventually, she will be colored in rainbow colors. But, until then she will bravely accept the things she can’t change and gracefully change the things she can. Until then she will love herself and say positive things to herself. Until then she will make peace with the chaos and the dark colors.

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