She wears her smile like an armour. Even those who hate her, love her smile. She does not construct it with mortar of conscious effort. It comes to her naturally like breathing.
She forgets to breathe sometimes. So does she to smile. But as the breathing resumes itself naturally so does her smile.
She doesn’t smile to please. It is her way of living. It is not a camouflage. She always lets the smile rise up to her eyes. She is incapable of generating fake ones ‘cos that which does not brim up to the eyes is not worth a try.
She has a very toothy extensive smile. She has been told. Sometimes she likes to think that it’s her bone structure that has been designed to let a smile rest and cozy up every now and then.May be its the uncomfy over bite . Anatomic logic or whatever, she doesn’t mind. She feels blessed.
She has smiled through rough times and sailed above insults and humiliation. She wasn’t pretending to be strong or being defiant. She was just holding on dearly to the one thing that was her own. She was perhaps just regenerating her broken self-esteem and pride smile by smile. Don’t mistake her to be a moron to smile through all that… she does get hurt. She shows her wounds only to her close ones. For the rest of the world she wears her smile like an armour.
She lets anger gnaw at her heart and she smells of volcanoes sometimes. The heat is immense and it burns her. But she also turns more fluid and lucid within. Sometimes she can then spew fuming words laden with truth that she courteously subsides in mild mental states. She sees herself anew. The remains of plastered masks peeling off. She sees herself burn and purify . She learns once again that she is not perfect. She is reminded that the reigns of self-control should not be taken lightly.
In this molten state she sees the world through a gaseous blur. She reaches the verge of misinterpreting all that is around her. She also risks being misinterpreted .She has eyes that burn and smoke.She becomes unapproachable. She invokes fear. Sometimes she invokes reverence. Sometimes she ends up overdoing it. She feels the worst when the fire of her rage engulfs an unsuspecting innocent soul. Molten within she is filled with remorse.
She deeply aches for her calm avataar. To acquire again for which she had worked so hard. She can see how calmness and rage define each other. She knows that the negatives cannot be completely sucked out of her being.
She is human. So, she shall smell of volcanoes sometimes. She also knows after all the exploding, burning and melting she shall crystallize… paving fertile grounds for grapevines and then she shall smell of flowers again.
She is in conflict with time. She loves to waste it when she has plenty at her hand. She knows well that it will snap back at her hand like a broken over-stretched rubber band. She sometimes wishes that time was like the tape in old audio cassettes that she could rewind with a juggle of an ordinary HB pencil.
She used to think of her life in time labelled boxes ... tens, teens , twenties. She feels less need of boxes now as twenties box has some teens stuff and the stuff of the childhood spills everywhere. (There is some even in the new thirties box.)
She doesn’t want to be a time traveler. It would be too much to travel in time. Jet lags of such advanced stage might kill her mental decorum. But she won’t mind if a time traveler comes to visit and shares stories of his exploits and thinks of her in special terms.
Her problem with time is that it passes away. It is not patient enough for her. It never stops to allow her to know herself. All it keeps doing is changing her, making her older and never fully equipped to finish things timely. Her plans spill over and get delayed. She abhors devicing time-tables . They make her look incompetent. She loves the word timeless. This is why perhaps she prefers diamonds.Love as a feeling per se she believes may be timeless, but when attached to people who are attached to time perhaps it also becomes prone to change.
She keeps looking for something timeless within herself.