In and Out of Time

an offering to the breeze

It's been months since I've seen her. I didn't attend the wedding, much to my father's chagrin, but I couldn't bear to face her. After what I'd done, I'm almost certain she never wants to lay eyes on me again. So I've just sulked about for weeks on end, trying to find something to do with myself.

Due to the celebrations, everyone was busy and my father was luckily in too good a mood to pay mind to my despondency. When the happy couple returned to the palace after their honeymoon, my father soon reverted to his ways. However, his temper was now aimed at me more than ever.

Being that he now had another addition to our family, he didn't want her to gain any negative feelings towards him. And what better way than to spew his wrath at someone who's dealt with it all their life? Exactly why I've been spending more and more time outside the house. Yet that doesn't allow me to escape my treacherous mind.

Had I only been honest, maybe these hours could've been passed with Madonna instead of in solitude. Today I made the 'wise' choice to set off on foot instead of bringing my steed. Though I don't have any complaints as I actually found a new spot along my journey. A hidden gem amongst the foliage, concealed well within the dense forest.

A fountain sits in the middle, overgrown with years worth of moss and vines; a sign of neglect most due to its elusiveness. I find something about the space comforting, somehow relating to the collection of stone. Though I have to say the neglect I've been afflicted with has not been so kind as to enhance my allure.

I take a seat on the cracked stone bench, running my fingers along the veins that have formed. My own brokenness reflected in them in a way. As I allow my mind to wander, I hear rustling in the bushes nearby. I sit up straighter, preparing to run, only to see the person I least expected to be here.

She emerges from a break in the trees and I'm quick to take note of her unusual attire. She sports a shorter dress than is typical, only falling just past her knees. It also isn't as vibrant as the other gowns I've seen her wear, this one being a more pastel hue; somewhere between baby pink and beige. Even so, that isn't what my attention lingers on.

Her hair is free from its usually intricate styles. It flows gently in the breeze and I'm mesmerized by the way it falls on her broad shoulders. It glistens just how I remember and yet it appears to even glow now; a halo fit for an angel. She looks up and catches my eyes, a thick tension instantly setting in the air between us. I see her body tense and my heart clenches as if someone had pulled it out my chest and squeezes.

"Well... your hair is down. Anyway I can come in?" I joke to ease my nervousness, eluding to a book I read including a collection of folklore. In particular, I reference a poem by the Persian poet Ferdowsi in which a woman let down her hair to allow those below access to her home; and subsequently the story of a young Italian woman named Barbara who was locked in a tower by her father due to her immense beauty.

I suppose it should have crossed my mind that she would not pick up on my reference but anxiety clouds my thoughts. Moreover, she appears to me as a woman that is well-read and so I suppose—perhaps even subconsciously—I simply knew she would understand me. She gives no reaction at first and we revert to our staring contest until she's ready to speak.

"Is this the version where she is beheaded or the false happily ever after?" I'm not sure whether it was intended or not but her response thickens the air even further, casting a gloomy atmosphere over our surroundings. I don't reply, afraid to be met with any other venom she has to give. Still, a part of me yearns to hear her voice, even with such harsh words leaving such soft lips.

I think I believe I deserve this—actually, I know I do. She has every right to be upset with me and express that. I hear her move and my head raises to look upon her, only to find that she's turned to leave. Her steps come to a halt and she seems to be in deep thought about something. I watch with bated breath, wishing for her to say something—anything.

Her next and last words shine a ray of light through the darkness; a glimmer of hope amid the shadows. "Meet me here next week, same time" and then she's gone, as if she were never here at all; it takes me a second to actually convince myself she was. Once I'm sure it wasn't a mirage, I smile widely and bite my lip in excitement.

I return home with a bounce in my stride, knowing I'll once again be graced with her overwhelming presence. A nervousness tries to take root in me but there's no room amongst the joy I feel. There's also a sense of relief that she even desires to see me again. For the first time in months I slip into bed with a smile on my face, feeling a sense of completeness.