Providence

There is a certain mould to the man's face which endears me to touch them. Perhaps it's only the working of a nature, fate, or an ethereal force to such longing. These days, as I look around the horizon to which my life had grown, spun around and sat still, I see only these feelings as no more than a beauty in the life itself. It's no longer a reward nor it is a punishment.

The neatly stitched and coal black brows, the strong jaws and the not entirely done sun-kissed hair do not seem to do justice to the far-away and foreboding look on his face. I wish I was there, by his side to wash all the confusions away. What, I wonder, is in his mind?

My ability to sustain my feelings within me are getting rustier over time. I used to appear blank-faced, emotionless, and even a tad too comforted with snobbery. These days, my empathy always seem to fail me. I smiled to the most fearsome stranger, I blurted a little hello to the dogs lazing around in the sun, I cried shamelessly for the little boys burnt by greed and intolerance. I can no longer keep myself invisible, for the world has already seen me for what I am; a human being with a flood of emotions within me.

Now the stranger, clad in his black shirt flagged by the wealth of his friends, is exploding my heart with ache. The rush of feelings I am flooded with at the mere sight of his face choke my throat, for even gargantuan what grows inside me for him, it can never be born to the reality of life.

But despair I am not, because I believe even such misopportunity is a providence from above. It will be difficult to forget such genteel smile and delicate touch, but it will not be impossible to cease remembering them. It will be devastating to let go of the world full of hope in his eyes, but it will be indefinitely fulfilling to close those eyes and keep them in my memories. The key, my friend, to such impossibility is to live on.