Bright curious eyes. Expectant. Childlike. Alight with dreams.
Reality. Insidious, unpredictable, inexplicable, fuzzy.
Two parallel lines of wishful thinking and reality moving along a trajectory that will always remain apart.
Simi was forced to accept reality. To swallow the bitter pill. To walk the fine line between illusion and fact. To question her dreams. To doubt her gut.
She learnt that love can be a lie that trips smoothly off a tongue. That promises are made to be broken. That avowals of love can be made to more than one. That love can be a string of beautiful beads. That the string can snap in two and the beads of fantasy scatter across the floor to never come together in the same magical way they once had. That love can mock. That love can be a facade. That hate can be love. That causing pain can be love. That love can hurt. That feeling is illogical. That, sometimes, you just don’t have the stomach for it. Or the heart for it. Because you dread the emptiness it may leave behind. That love can be a one way street. That words are not love. That retaliation can be love. That love cannot be hidden. That love can let you down. That you can let love down. That love makes you vulnerable and powerless. The love can make you powerful. That love is an unboxing of contradictions.
Simi’s eyes remain bright. Curious. Expectant. Hopeful. But there is a wariness now. Doubt.
Till love comes along again. Wearing a different costume.
And she holds on fast for the ride but this time, she keeps her eyes open.
Existential tête à tête 