She and Me

Everytime I look at her in the photo album, I see tired lines emerging from under the corners of her pearl shaped eyes. Pain and sadness peek from behind the curtains of loneliness and frustration. Her beauty robbed by fate. Her frail body, her worn out hands and her beautiful thick hair now thin and white make me realise the damage that has been done to her. And I hold myself responsible for it. Had I not been there (sometimes I think for a good reason I shouldn't have been there because I have never given her any happiness nor am I capable of giving her) she would not have been reduced to this stature. She gave me love, I gave her pain. She hugged me to protect me. I hit back with force in retaliation thinking she wanted to chain me. She fulfilled my wishes. Greedily I asked for more.

But now is there any point in repenting? Things were said, tempers exchanged and apologies given with who knows what intention. All that remains now is sadness and pain. And a huge burden of guilt. Unending and cumbersome.

She's so wonderfully warm, kind and gentle. Never have I ever seen anybody more compassionate than her. Since the day I have known her, she's always been the same person. Only even after all this she still trusts fate, still trusts the world and the people in it. And in all this, it is tranquility that still illuminates her face. I know not whether it is from some godforskaen eternal well of hope or because of pain. Whereas someone like me at this age, has lost all trust and fate in this world and its people. Yet for some reason I don't know why I am still so attracted to studying people, their behaviours, their cultures, what makes them do what they do etcetera

Sometimes I feel very lucky to deserve her. But when it comes to her, I feel that I have been the most horrible child ever that she doesn't deserve at all. For what fault of hers did she deserve a freak for a father, a crappy husband like him, even more crappier a daughter like me?

When I am with her I am at peace with myself, with everybody around me. I guess that is true love. But when she is with me, deep down inside she's worried about me. And I hate myself for giving her those worries. I hate myself because half of me comes from him who was so rotten to her. I hate myself for being like him. I hate meself for looking a little like him. Yet I am helpless. I can't do anything because that is a fact that he is my father one, and two he will always be no matter what.

I guess everybody has to pay a price for whatever they have in life. This is the price I pay for being God' special child and I don't mind paying more than this or paying with my life for somebody like her for she brings the best out in me and she loves me like nobody else has ever done.