It would be a crazy idea to dissect and try to comprehend how a touch at the finger tip is transformed into that big joy filled nice confusion in the heart, which only love can induce, and then starts the rise of the demons too.
When the eyes met and it read what had to be read, then from that moment onwards doubt never interfered their meetings; not once. It was a relation almost like the sea and the sailor. Both awed by the other's uniqueness. One, by its vastness and the other with its equally unique courage to conquer. They both were ready to consume each other or be consumed by each other while deliberating the different logical sides of what love could be to us all.
It was not a war, with love we have already related the term much too often and have killed its punch to use it again. It was more like two independent people who were ready to shed their dependencies just to be with the other. They deliberately hid their real self just to be loved. Thus it became an unexplainable pain with in themselves, the hiding of the self and the loving of the other. But they hung on to the ways of life and intrigue it offered while they held their arms firm as if they were on a coaster ride.
The lights started to dim slowly, the curtains set for another scene. May be because she judged their ways faster or differently, she stepped in first. When he joined her at the scene it was already too dark to decipher their faces and she thought it was most convenient, now that she was about to reveal her real self, let least the face be covered. Instead of telling how she felt she just advised him on the positives of being apart and being far, and how that could transform themselves to the real.
He stood still, sinking within himself, all the while hiding the face in some dark shadow. Was it over? Is she gone? Is this real? Will there be light? Has the knife come out from my back yet? There were a lot of questions that he asked him that night. And he got a lot of answers the same night, about demons and their kingdom.
