Tuesday, January 21, 2014

A tale about a boy with flowers in his hair - 3

My brilliant colours, may you always be.

One day he walked out to the edge of a forest he woke up; a springtime. Although it was sunny, he felt the raindrops caressing his hair and forehead - what a perfect day! He looked up smiling, and looked beyond. In the far distance, he saw a lone white figure. He thought of walking to the village he saw on his right, but something about that traveller made him look again. The traveller was not grey like everything untouched, the traveller was all white. He couldn't explain what he saw - "Why the colour?! How come?" - but knew he had to meet that person for he felt something move deep inside him. He didn't know what it was, but he had to find out. He walked after that white figure, faster and faster, heart beating, never forgetting to touch the grass and flowers, trees and rocks he came across, never taking his eyes off that figure. And he kept feeling something move inside him. The closer he got, the stronger became that feeling in his gut. He didn't know what it was, it was not even the colour anymore, but it filled him with a longing, yearning so deep he barely breathed. All morning he walked after the white, and finally, when the sun was at its zenith, he was walking a few hundred steps behind the white, and his feelings were unbearably sweet now. What surprised him even more was that the figure ahead of him seemed to have done the same to the world around: something was different, something was pure. At last, the figure sat down in the shade of a lone tree. The boy nearly sprinted to the tree, forgetting to touch the grass, the flowers, the butterflies and flies, for he had to meet that sitting white, the mystery white. As he came closer, he saw that it was another young man like himself. As he came closer, he felt something stir inside him as he looked at the other's back. He felt as if he knew who it was, but couldn't quite understand it because usually people he touched were filled with colours, but this was white. Plus, the air around that youth simmered. He never saw the air simmer around people before. Fascinated, he stepped slowly closer. The youth finally heard him and turned around to see him: the water bottle forgotten half-way to his lips, the white's eyes shone with brilliance at what he saw behind him - all the colours of the world. They stared at each other for the longest time. The boy with the flowers in his head suddenly felt shy. The white boy wasn't shy. Instead of talking, he rose and touched the boy with flowers in his hair, and the boy with flowers heard something so lyrical and so deep and so beautiful he started crying. "What are you? Why are you so beautiful?" he questioned with tears in his eyes, looking deep into the white boy's serene eyes. "I am the music of the world. I heard about you, the colours of the world for the longest time, and now we meet. You are even more beautiful than I was told." "No, beauty is what I'm feeling right now, what I'm hearing in my soul." "As you're listening to my soul, your colours are becoming even more beautiful. You don't see it, but I do."

the end

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