Thoughts.

Secret Garden

It wasn't the secret garden's flowers that made tears spring to my eyes. It was the sculpted statues which appeared entirely more grotesque than they ought to be. I moved passed them as they stared at me impassively. A disconcerted shudder tickled my spine. They cruelly reminded of what today was and how entirely detached from my emotions I was supposed to be in order to survive - especially in this place, searching for something.
I had walked through this garden, it seems, my entire life. It was difficult to trust my own self and others here, for I had not a clue of what I was searching for. Like a blind man, I searched for light, not knowing of its entity. Where was the warmth?
Yet I couldn't overlook what others had done to me and how they destroyed me. But that was life. Of course, you lovely readers know not to trust anyone - or at least should know that. Undergoing scathing processes, such as watching the consequences of your vulnerability revealed, becomes observed through involuntary twitches of the brows or the shakiness of the entire body. I am not strong enough to allow that to happen. But I do, over and over again. My visits to secret garden have been ever more frequent as the days go by. I spent my time here detached from the evils of others, from the cruelty of myself. I could not trust, for my humanity had wandered into the midst, and I was calling it from the bottom of my stomach in silence.
My face was forced into experienced neutrality - lips relaxed, eyes dull, brows softened. Even my shoulders seemed to obey the strict order of my mind that commands nonchalant appearance. The statues seemed to approve. I looked like them; I belonged here.
A girl appeared from the bushes, strange and bare, of light and blaze. Her bronze skin shined under the lights of the garden. Her large eyes were bruised, a small scar extended from the bottom of her eye to the chin like a teardrop.
She smiled when she saw me. I didn't return it, wondering with awe about how she came into existence. It was clear that she was not part of the garden.
"You're wounded," was the first thing she said, observing me.
"I am," I murmured, relieved that she understood.
"You wound others too. You expect forgiveness for that, yet you have none to give for those who wounded you."
My lip quivered, and I feared she was correct. Suddenly, I was terrified of her. It was as though she could read my soul, and there is nothing worse than being bare, unveiled, and uncovered, with every shame and lie exposed.
"You've been returning here, hoping to find something."
"Perhaps," the hair on my arms stood and my muscles tensed.
Her eyes were fixed on me as she approached me, very carefully, as if I were the most dangerous being on the planet. It made the thought of me repulsive. A true human being shouldn't have to cause fear in others. A true human being in its essence could transcend the grasps of any touch of evil. I loathed myself for scaring her, and hated myself more so for being looked upon with power and fear, for I had none of that. My cheeks burned in embarrassment and I stepped away, sitting down.
She wasn't surprised by this gesture.
"What answers are you searching for, troubled soul?" She asked, "You are pitiful, weak, and angered. You are scared and apply fear when your pride is wounded. You hope that your anger will be sufficient enough of a companion to help you turn against your enemies. Oh, how miserable you are."
Tears sprung to my eyes and I inhaled sharply. She had pricked my bleeding heart, for I knew her words to be true. Sometimes we as people find ourselves in the most simple of things, and now was such a time. I trembled, my ability to control my bodily functions failing me to an even greater extent.
She crawled into my lap and stared into my eyes. Her brows knitted together, "What are you searching for?" She whispered.
"You. You, to tell me of my wrongs. To tell me of my faults. I have wronged myself greatly. I have everything, yet nothing, for my humanity has left me. I have no one but my faults as company. And you..." My eyes fell.
"I am nothing," she said, "You are not searching for me. You are searching for a clear conscience, and me telling you of your wrongs will not give you that."
"What am I searching for?"
"What do you wish for? What do you desire?" She lifted my chin, "Do you wish to destroy an entire generation with your evil deeds? Do you wish a seemingly beautiful companion next to you so that everyone is talking, envying you for her? Do you wish to hold your anger as a brother and hope that it brings you justice? Or do you desire your lusts to become gods to you, directing your heart? Tell me."
"None!" I exclaimed, forgetting that she was in my lap and not far away. Embarrassment painted my cheeks in scarlet once again. She looked away, with a face quite perplexed, lips formed into a sad frown.
"The secret garden is a strange place for strange people. And those strange people are not strangers to it. They walk in the beauty of the garden when there lies a terrible secret in it all. In here you see roses with savage thorns. In here prickling ivies that promise beauty at the glance of them, and only pain at the touch of them. You see, my dearest friend, some people or things are just like those ivies and roses. Rather search for an unimpressive flower with soft petals so it won't hurt you."
"I don't know what I'm searching for," I finally had courage to say, "I was hoping that you could help me."
She looked at me with those bruised eyes, a small lopsided smile playing on her lips, "I don't mean to pluck the strings of your mind, but if you would like food for thought, start thinking of yourself and why you are here. And do not be selfish in your thoughts. Leave alone anger and arrogance. Then you'll know what you're searching for. If a blaze of light shines from you, know that it is your first guide to the right path. Walk on it. Never swerve."
"What is the right path?" I asked.
But she had vanished, and the statues peered at me with viscious eyes. I was no friend to the secret garden, for its mystery wanted to swallow me and make me part of its entrails, forgotten and lost in its beauty. I got up and searched through the roses and ivies. I found myself scathed and bruised. I found myself distrusting, poisoning my love for anything or anyone with doubt. Most of all, I found myself irresponsible and uncommited. How miserable I was, indeed.
Oh, and how those bruised eyes appraised me with warning.