Mary

 “Go out on a limb. That’s where the fruit is.” — Jimmy Carter

“I am always doing that which I cannot do, in order that I may learn how to do it.” — Pablo Picasso

She was waiting for two hours after the office. Her home was quite large with two floors. It was so comfortable for her. She was a single lady who his aspiration was search for the unique love. Or maybe two?
–    He came back? She thought.

Immediately, she searched into her home some clue.

“My home is in your arms. Perhaps that is why we travel so light, the material wealth of this world being no more than the dark mush after snow: transient, beauty tarnished with pollution. I need only love to be healthy and whole and that is something I trust only you to give. So what could cold walls ever matter compared to you? Call me and I come, ask and everything I am is yours. Your soul is the very song of heaven, the holy grail of my life quest.” She thought.

Her home is rooms and walls like any other, beds, tables and chairs, yet it is only the love there that matters. The walls are the colors of the ocean and sand, somewhere she adore. The walls are smiles and cheekiness, decorated with the pictures of the people who hold my heart. While we dwell here this home is so much more than the sum of its parts and for that  She has love to thank, the glue of her existence.

He had spotted her from the window. She sat in one of the great, big wicker chairs on the porch, legs neatly tucked under her and hidden from sight. Today her hair was woven into a braid, nothing fancy, just to keep the sweat out of her eyes. The heat had driven her from the house, armed with nothing more than a book and a yearning lust for just a couple degrees cooler that a passing breeze might provide. He could see the floaters, those few long, elegant strands of hair she always kept at bay with a hand as she read. The ones that always made him smile and roll his eyes and think, “Just get a damn haircut already.”

But, he couldn’t entry there. He came back to his house with a lot of prepotency. He was unable to talk with her. He felt so lonely and desperate.

Lonely was once an abstract idea, an affliction of the old. “Without you I am a tree stuck forever in winter, bereft of leaves and shivering under a blanket of frost” He thought.  He was completely bad.

“My world is cold, my limbs empty of the life they once had. When you walked this earth I could never be alone no matter how near or far you were, but now that you are dead the loneliness remains no matter how close others are. I could take another lover and still my soul would remain barren. I used to think of loneliness as something that passed, like an abrupt and unwelcome wind, but this feeling stays with me as if it altered my DNA”. He thought.
Emotions. The very thing that make us human. You can have happiness, pride, excitement, relief. Every emotion considered good. But what would you be if you didn’t feel hurt, or pain, or despair? You can’t have the good without the bad. There is no light without darkness. The trick is to balance them, so the bad doesn’t seem so terrible, and you can truly appreciate the good.

This is the Mary`s story. It is a wild adventure. 

She is Mary, a normal lady with a normal life. She had a hair flowed down her back like black ink of a tilted piece of parchment or a tattoo. Her eyes were cat-like and had an icy greyish green hue like the first sprouts of plants in the snow. Black braids fall about Mary’s face creating soft shadows under her cheekbones. Other than the brilliant white of her August smile and the pink of her lips, she is a perfect blend of browns from her skin to her dress. Her hair shone like the sea at night, the black strands utterly white where the bright rays fell. As she moved, so did those brilliant bands, like echoes of the northern lights. Into her inky hair she weaves vivid colours that change by the week. No matter the hues she is beautiful, doesn’t everything look great with black?

She was a unique lady looking for happiness. At the moment, she has two boys. Peter and Mario.

She was in a desperate situation for the hesitance. Mario had proposed her marriage.

Marriage isn’t a ring worn or a paper signed. It is not something endured but savoured. It is the union of two hearts beating as one, each that would sacrifice for the other’s happiness and wellbeing. Marriage is something so beautiful that in that natural world it would be an opening rose, always with radiant petals left to unfurl to a warm sun. Perhaps that is why we give roses to those we love and often have them at our sacred unions. Marriage is the blessing we give to one another, an eternal bond of soul-mates.

But, she not thought there.

However, with a pretty house in the Middletown and lots of money earned with hard work, she had no problems. Well, she thought that. Mario was a nice boy who his intention with her was pure and genuine. He was true-hearted and his family too. She spent hours and hours with his family who lived in the south of Florida.

Mario had tousled dark brown hair, which was thick and lustrous. His eyes were a mesmerising deep ocean blue, flecks of silvery light performed ballets throughout. His face was strong and defined, his features molded from granite. He had dark eye brows, which sloped downwards in a serious expression. His usually playful smile had drawn into a hard line across his face. His perfect lips ripe for the kissing. His strong hands, slightly rough from working, held mine as he stared deep into my eyes. His smile etched its way back into his face. His body was warm and toned as he hugged me, comforting to the touch. His voice was deep, with a serious tone. His lips brushed my ear as he spoke, “I really do love you.”

So, he was so boring man. That was the problem. Mary had search an adventurous man with a lot of passion. Passion for her life.

She had other story. A wild story. Peter was the protagonist.

To start off with, we have to imagine a nice boy with a lot of money. He was a “Metrosexual” who is especially meticulous about his grooming and appearance, typically spending a significant amount of time and money on shopping as part of this. His hair, dark and lustrous, had a sheen like fine hardwood. But that comparison isn’t entirely fair, I suppose. Peter doesn’t swish gently like his hair does; swaying with the words he speaks. A shiny varnish catches merely light around it, but the depths of that deep chestnut brown reflected all the radiance of his smile. He saw himself as a fashionista, a leader of style. Well, he was a leader of this. The boy was perfection in coffee hues; his hair and eyes were the colour of dark roasted beans but his skin was all latte. He had that shy look about him teens often get when they’ve grown too much too fast, like they aren’t really sure about being a man just yet. He was skinny, but the way his clothes hung gave away the muscle beneath; and always in his wake were heads turning to watch him go.

Mary met him at a café near of the downtown. He was talking with his friends about fashions and travels.  He talked about banal things like a haircut. He wanted to live fullest. Instead, she talked to her friends about her stupid job in the bank. “Life is rough,” she thought.  She observed him with his great style. “He`s handsome” She thought with the pheromones in her hands. 

Their meeting was quite strange. She stopped to pay for the coffee when suddenly someone called her:
– Hello, I’ve been watching you since I entered the place.
– So I am.
– You’re beautiful, but you’re too nerdy.
– Hahaha, I’m not.
– Well I think yes.

When he said that she got upset. “He is a completely asshole” she thought.
– Please, give me your phone number.
– No, this is not a good idea.
– Please.
– No, i`m very shy.
– What`s the problem with me?.
– I don`t know. You aren`t my type.
– Yes, I am.
– No.
– Well, no problem. Bye sweaty.
– Goodbye.

She paid for her coffee and left while he paid for his coffee and went out.
– Bye dudes. He said goodbye to his friends.

Continue….