For Now I mirror myself!

The other day, I looked myself in the mirror and I was so dumbfounded to the extent I have changed.

And more to my amaze, from when did I even start looking in the mirror with so much patience?

For now I love trailing down the curves to the way my hairs curl. That winged eyeliner became my companion with that tinted lip gloss giving me the perfect cheeky smile.

Did I just blush?

These small little things amaze me not because they are typical girly things but because since when did I even start behaving girlish?

I was that girl, who used to carry pink without even once looking at the fact that it's being girlish as they say. The other day I would be carrying a blue striped jacket not even realizing that it gives a tomboyish look. After all, these things didn't matter to me. A messy bun or not a bun at all, to me it was all just the same. It'd be ridiculous, I know, if I say I just got to know that 'This is called a bun!'

I was happy confined to my own metaphysical realities.

If you cross-by me, asking what happiness means to me? Or what exactly do you call your reality? I am afraid but you'd have found me lost. Might I have gotten into some obscure sight of finding happiness or might it was the sad nightmare I've been living in having been fooled in it as to the abstract realism of some sort, I couldn't possibly say.

"Go away! I...I...umm..am happy."

This is the short quick reply, you would have gotten of me. It was 'cos I wanted you to go off my sight. Now, when I look upon the reasons....I would probably say that I didn't want to get close to anybody. When you can't mirror between the way you look and how you feel to look that way, believe me, you fear getting attached. I might have become paranoid of the consequences if I explain certain things to someone and it melts me down even more.

I bleached out the colours, for I thought either the rainbow is itself so dull or is it that I am a classic example of a dumbo incapable of feeling the lovely colours it sprinkles. When everyone looked at the beautiful arc, I looked upon the shadowy dim red at the back.

To me, there was no love but a hallucination eager as ever to cast off the mere glimpses pertaining to such an emotion.

Then he came to spring me free like a breeze. Life suddenly got wagon-wheels.

You don't seem girly enough?

And for a girl who sucks at filling up the to-be-ideal chasms, it feels extremely extraordinary to do something of that sort.

It is worth getting that dark kohl-eyed look when someone peeps with such intoxication straight into your eyes mirroring his soul with yours. When he cups my face to gently stroke my cheeks and kisses my lips, I can't gauge how much of him has gotten into my skin deep.

The warmth I feel tugging against his chest while he is tracing down his moist pecks and touches all over my skin is so sublime that it makes me vibrant almost like a cascade.

If love incites devotion or makes oneself passionate about materialistic possessions is something I would partially agree with.

For now all I did was mirror myself, the real inner me. From treading down the dark silent tracks to the one kindling the lampshades, I breathed joy, I discovered it. I think here is what lies the beauty, in striving for constant beautification with love.