She sat, alone, atop the hill beside the lake, watching as a single Redbud tree grew in full bloom. It’s beauty captured her completely; she had not broken her gaze upon it.
What was there to not love? It was a magical sight — the simplicity of the little heart-shaped leaves as they rested alongside the delicate clusters of flowers naturally tinted in ombré magenta, all planted on a cleverly twisted trunk and outward spreading branches. There and then, the Redbud seemed to have enhanced the allurement of the whole scenery – the vibrant green of the frondescence, the soft blue shade of the sky surrounded the moieties of pure white clouds; its beauty was infinite.
Yet, right then, tout de suite — she was overwhelmed by dolor. Solitude hadn’t bothered her before until its impendence sunk into her mind and heart. The quiet indulgence of every hint of peace and happiness that often came from innocent reclusiveness had become a sign of social suicide and, as the universal apperception would have it, there would be no survivors. Admiring the Redbud tree still, she screamed and began to tear.
The day was fresh, with a lively spring wind, but it was horrible to be among such amazing company without a heart to truly savour every bit of it. You see, pain was as simple as it looked – you had to cry and try to let it all out before you are silenced by the voices inside your head.
unworthy But she stopped, remembering that screaming was not normal. You had to understand that eccentricity was a deformity. There were no positive connotations in being bizarre, and it certainly was nothing to be happy about. fall She stood, silently and slowly, as the pain gradually took control of her every subsequent move and thought. She forced a wry smile that pinched her face instead of smoothing it. As their words turned, repeatedly, in her mind, she began to realize that her life was one of experiment. lose The search for herself was entirely internal and she was fighting a losing battle against society.
Reality has it that you had to be normal to be accepted, which is subconsciously always being harped upon because your acceptance determines your survival. It was a social rule; non-conformity means death. Your thoughts didn’t matter to society, neither did your feelings. Only achievements that are socially deemed as successful would acknowledged as ‘truesuccess’. It didn’t matter whether or not you were beautiful, much less unique on the inside. Image had always been secondary to her, but not to society. You had to look the part to play the part. You had to be perfect. The irony – so much said about being yourself when not a soul was brave enough to stay true; fear her – especially.
The vibrant flora, ardent blue sky and flawless white clouds became increasingly blurred. The Redbud tree, once alive, dimmed into a dusty shade of gray.
Those who wandered – disappeared.
All that was once authentic – now a mere product of society.
Smiling, sincerely (for the first time in forever), she shut the windows to her soul and said to her beloved, “when we become forgettable and insignificant, always remember – we had today; then fade away and be happy.”
originally published: 10 Mar 2015