The House on the Top

She didn’t want to talk anymore.

She had always loved to swear. It brought out the intensity behind every feeling that reverberated through her tiny body and found pleasure in being expelled with the force and anger of a cuss. It helped her get through life because more often than not, it’s all that people deserved to be told.

‘Glorify or vilify them but you can’t ignore them’ was a loose coin rattling inside the tin can that was her head and all she wanted to do was scream.  For, ignore them, she couldn’t. But love them was something she yearned for. Yet to keep herself sane, she tried to calm herself down, relax, tell herself it’s okay but it just wasn’t working anymore.

She didn’t know for sure if it was just reality of the world catching up to her or everything in it that cut her to the bone, that affected her so deeply. She just wanted the world to stop existing the way it did and become a good one. She wanted people to be honest, consistent, loyal and reliable. She wanted to talk to minds that opened up at the touch of a hand that threw open braincells to the onslaught of fiery transmissions over synapses as one would be forced to revel at the brilliance of pure genius thought.

She wanted her mind opened to horizons beyond the irrelevance of the chatter of those around her.

She wanted someone she could trust with her plans and hopes and dreams and love fully for the space that gave her. She yearned for her companion and yet wished to smash all that stood before her because this need would torment her ego which wasn’t good enough to do it alone.

She wanted to be independent and yet find freedom in the comfort of arms that would simply hold her close. She just wanted to collapse in arms that would keep her warm for the cold moment and she didn’t want to ask.

She wanted to live.  Happily, fulfilled and ultimately satiated. She wanted a break from the rut that the world demanded of its people, that society wished to impose and she just wished to break free for once.

She wanted to run. To that house, far far away from the madness of those who shouldn’t have the right to call themselves human beings and wished to dissolve in the air that surrounded the mountain where the cobblestones were moss covered and would lead to the door, which if were opened, would reveal to the unsuspecting gaze of another to the onslaught that was the purity of her soul.  The bright lamps that are covered with coloured glasses, the paintings on the wall that are a testament to her artist within, the cream coloured bed below the window to the side and a fireplace which is begging to be sat before.

You would find her there, on the periphery, barely visible because she’s swallowed in the arm chair, probably curled up in the blanket that smells of familiarity and if you’re lucky she’ll look up at you then and you’ll know what it is to peep into the cosmos of the human spirit. And then she’ll smile, which in its shocking, unrestrained joy will only parallel yours.