Saturday, February 19, 2011

My Love Is Like...

O my Luve’s like a red, red rose,
That’s newly sprung in June.
O my Luve’s like the melodie
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.--

My love isn't superficial. It isn't the wild, animalistic, fairy tale love.

It is the kind of love where we fight, we argue, we disagree but in the end we stand together. We don't hold hands or kiss in public but share inside jokes and secret messages.
My love isn't crazy, it is stable. It's not about hiding in corners, and enjoying private moments. Its about sharing our lives in the most normal manner.

No talk about marraige and children... lets talk about who'd kick whose ass in which sport. Not caring what people think, but maintaining a respectable reputation.

Not sneaking out behind our parents back, but forcing them to come along with us as well.

My love isn't immature, but our friendship is.

My love... it doesnt make me swoon, it makes me feel just right. Just right is all I need.

And a friend , thats what keeps us strong, because when all the romance, the fireworks, the butterflies go away, I see the one person who I can talk to, who makes me laugh and who comforts me when things go rough.

I see my future. I see happiness.

That is my love.

My love isn't mad passion... Its the soothing voice that says "Ill always be here..."
and best of all...means it.


Thursday, February 17, 2011

The Child No One Saw

We see but ignore each other, barriers separating us from the world. We move on, not seeing what the shaded faces are really showing.

I saw you that first day, dark skinned and meek, stains on your shirt that I premused was ketchup. Barely ten years old, your face was looking up at me, tired and when your hand held mine, I felt the callousness. A child with eyes wiser than the smartest of men, you remained silent through the day.

At first we thought you were shy, but those tears in your eyes when you heard of other peoples familys told a different story.
Forgive me, forgive me for not asking why.

If only I knew...

If only there was a way you could have told me, that those bruises were not from the playground, those tears were not just for attention and those stains all over your shirt were not from breakfast.

I didn't realise till it was too late. Please forgive me, I could have saved you. I could have done something.

I heard what they did to you before I saw the marks of suffering, but I did not believe anyone could hurt such a beautiful child. You deserved to live a wonderful life, enjoy your childhood and explore the joys of the world.

And now, you'll never have a first kiss, your 18th birthday, graduation, a child to love and care for. You'll never get to walk in the rain, or worry about assignments... You won't see daylight again... Your ten, and you loved her. You loved her till the day she slammed you into that wall, the day she kicked you in the ribs, the day she killed you. I know you still love her.

You were hurt, you were bleeding but you still cared about them, you still wanted to help her, but who helped you? Who cared about you?

We, ignorant, self-centred adults ... we ignored the belt marks, the wax scars, the burns, the unnaturally broken teeth and your poor hygiene. Was this the life you deserved?

She was your mother. She should have taught how to love a beautiful child...

They will be punished. Those tears your bled, the pain you felt...they will feel it too.

In all those months of knowing you, I didn't realise how hard your life must have been, to be hurt by those who ought to care for you.

Please forgive me. I wish I was there when she broke you, when you took your last breath. I wish I was there to stop her, to care for you. To give you a chance to live again.

You didn't deserve this. No one ever does.

God, are you watching?
... This is the world you left us in.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Dear Amelia ,

I am a failing set of wings, a broken beaten down child. When I reach out to touch the sky, nothing happens; I end up grasping nothing but a breath of air. I am worn out and torn; they made me feel this way.

But I have no excuse, I am still alive, I have my limbs and my health. I am conscious and can speak as well as hear. I can understand and concentrate.

I am. Perfect.

You, gorgeous...

You are strong and steady. You hold your head up high, and you most of all are all I aspire to be, but you cannot see.
You cannot hear.
You cannot understand.
You who are differently able’d, I do no pity you. I admire you, for through it all you have made yourself stand out.

Through your broken limbs, you have stood tall. Through your weak ears, you have heard my silence. Through your dark eyes, you have seen the brighter side and through your lack of speech you have told me all I need to know.

You are beautiful, don’t let anybody take that away from you. You are freedom, you are joy... you are in control of your life.

I look at myself and wonder, blessed with everything, have I done enough? And I see you, with much less than what I have, struggling but with a smile and I think... No, no I haven’t.

I am ashamed of myself, for I am not as talented or wonderful as you, young girl. You are a baby compared to me but you are much more worthy of life.

You are what everyone should strive to be.

I remember you that day, silent but happy... the joy in your eyes seeing the animals around you. For once you felt it was your turn to take care of something and you felt special.

The thing I failed to tell you, is that you never needed those moments to feel special, child. You were and always will be...

You are the most special thing to ever happen to me because you changed my life. You showed me what living was about... you made me realise the value of helping others. You taught me not to be selfish , without even knowing it.

You taught me that you don’t need to be a preacher, a doctor, a healer, to change people’s lives. You just need to show them the right way to live.

Amelia ,

Thank You.

Thank you for teaching me the value of life, the art of selflessness and the beauty in tiny acts of love.

One day, you will be able to see with your own ears, hear through your ears and comprehend the magnitude of the affect you have on people.

One day, Amelia , the world will be yours.