Once again, she wished for a Genie to fix the things. It has been long since she closed her eyes and daydreamed about a creature to fulfil her wishes. Last time, she desperately wished to be pretty and talented in all ways possible. She created this unattainable form of herself and wanted to be her. Under the night traffic sounds, her mind tirelessly wished until it slept. As she grew up, the childhood fantasy of a Genie to grant her wish became a faint memory. She forgot when she stopped wishing to be that perfect embodiment of everything. Until one day, years later, she realised she had indeed changed. All those wishes to become pretty felt fulfilled when she saw herself in the mirror and did not find a flaw. For the first time, her eyes did not wander to the supposed flaws but looked into her eyes. She saw herself as she was and fell in love. She saw why people called those eyes beautiful for the first time. She believed them now.
The depth in her eyes, the shades of brown, the black pit, the brown-grey forming a ring around. They did not match the colour of the chocolate but were lighter. Not the colour of brown sand or a lover's hickey after a few days. Even though she is a writer, she was at a loss to find words to describe her eyes. She learns that she is her own Genie and who she sees now is her work.
Nonetheless, the hope of magic makes her desperately plead again every other night to let go and be okay. The summer days stretch contently. She is happy and okay most days, but her pent-up sadness leaks from her eyes when she gets tired. Her eyes have always been her traitor, seeking and finding a hopeless person. It traitorously steals the stares of someone who stares at someone else. In her naiveness, she pleads for one of the extremes- either consume her again or free her. She is tired and lost but remains with logic. The past argues logic to calm her and control her actions. It debates the consequences. The past reminds her of the failed attempts. It wins to leave it unsaid, “Hey…. how are you doing? How has life been? .… I miss you.... I don't expect anything from you by telling you this.…your undefined actions still confuse me…. I wish no guilt, sadness, actions, or anything…. I simply miss you and want you to know that.” In the end, she knows just like her old wishes, this will all be a faint memory in her book.
Writer's Note- Ain't nostalgia a bitch.
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