It was strange.
There were two women facing each other.
One charged with the resolve to defeat, the other not even aware that a war was on!
But all it took were a couple of seconds in front of each other that chips began to fall in place. And when she did realize the trumpet of the war by the fire in the eyes of the other, the bitterness in her words, she yielded. Unconditionally. Without wasting a single second.
In love she, too, had been, and recognised the fire of passion. She knew the tone that a voice echoing with rage adopts. She also knew that icey gaze all too well!
So she smiled softly at the fighter, looked tenderly into her fiery eyes and patted gently on her shoulder. This wasn't her battle, and the man wasn't her victory. She wasn't there to win at all. She needed to convey this to her.
It was hard to convince the raging passion of the utter lack of desire to indulge into the fight that never actually was. Yet she tried, and she tried with such devotion as if that solely was her war.
Sure of her self and convinced of her motives she persisted.
How she hoped she wins this battle!
Image Courtesy: albinokraken.com
3 comments:
That was like a vertigo in the landing. There is ever the conflict among the differnt shades of oneself.
conflict among different shades of oneself...hmm... interesting concept!
Though, this wasn't the intended theme o'er here.. :)
I perviced as both were the same. An acute sense of schizo, in a good way!
Post a Comment