Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Can I talk to you anyway?


"You know I'm not really here, right?"
"Can I talk to you anyway?"
... Iain Thomas...
This is exactly what passed my mind when I was lost in this city eight months back.

As I sat at the altar, taking shelter from the piercing and far from friendly sun, I stared in irritation at what seemed to be a very gentle looking statue.

I've always loved stained glass. At certain instances, I took a break from the glares I was giving Mother Mary and immersed myself in the amazing gloriousness of coloured light rays shining in. Diffraction of light in different mediums: dust, paint, clay. Dust shimmers never fail to remind me of fairy pathways that lead to Neverland.

Snapping back to concentrate on my feeling of dejection,
I said: "Why are you doing this to me?
I don't really care if you are there or not.
I am going to complain and
you are going to listen."

I vented out my frustration whilst frowning and pouting and making weird faces.

After which, I sat back and looked at Mother Mary in silence.

"What do you want me to do now?" I asked.

And stared some more; for quite some time.

And somehow came to an answer.

Magically enough.

I walked out that day ready to brace impossibilities.

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