Innocence

It was a cold night, but the fire in his heart warmed him.

It's not every time can he smile that genuine smile of contentedness and joy that brightens his day by a few thousand candellas. Heaven forbid she wake up now, as the little bundle of joy that was the product of love wriggled in his arms, about to peal out in frustration of being brought to existence so suddenly. He could imagine room service was always on point during the first nine months, and now, his beautiful newborn daughter would have to wait patiently for food served in spoonfuls. But patience was not going to come easy, and as an excited father he was looking forward to it.

Never had he seen his wife so beautiful than she was now. Drenched in sweat and her face a bright sheen in the harsh ceiling lights, she smiled at him in that soft way that melted his heart. She fought a long and hard battle against her body over the night, and how one so beautiful and fragile could show so much strength, he would never know, but would forever be grateful for.

Words couldn't describe the moment, but poetry could try. He looked at their daughter with a glint in his eye, trying to delve into her mind to see what he could find, was she thinking of herself while she let out a sigh, nearly inaudible yet as loud as a cry to the man that would treasure her even beyond the end of his life. Images flashed before him, showing him what he imagined, the day she would laugh and the day she would talk, the day she would crawl and the day she would walk, the year she would grow tall and strong and the day she'd learn right from wrong, the minute she'd fall in love so strong and the time she'd lose hope over what was lost, the day he'd walk her to school and back and the day he'd walk her down the aisle, the day they'd share dinner with friends and the day she'd say goodbye.

 

Tears came unbidden, of joy and love and of fears deep hidden, he wondered at the magic of the moment, when in his arms held a soul who was potent in changing their world when she learns to love it. He couldn't imagine a way to convey his joy to the one he called daughter, to this epitome of innocence embodied. There was a magic in the air that long, fruitful night, a lesson to be learnt of happiness, bliss and gratitude. Where millions had been unfortunate his family had triumphed, that dangerous dance with fate when a mother is to bring another to life, where a fickle fortune would've had the audacity to snatch either one of them away. How fragile, life seemed to him at that moment, but akin and in hand with that feeling came a feeling of immortality, that he could chain this moment to his mind to relive the joy again and again.

Innocent eyes opened and gazed at him, and even though he knew they would be blurry, he watched her soul through them. Here was a force of nature strong enough to move mountains and fragile enough to break where grass would bend. Here was his lineage, his blood, his family in a moment of triumph over life and the beauty of living.

As he handed to his wife their daughter, he out his arm around her, encircling within his embrace everything that mattered to him on this lonely planet Earth. Here, he knew, was innocence. May she learn to love like the seas love the beach, how the rain loves the sun, how the moon loves the night. 

His prayers were naught but an echo of his love for her.

Without a Doubt

"What if you're wrong, though?"

A rueful smile broke on his scruffy face as her eyes sought answers that he would not give. She was determined, at least, she thought she was. He knew all too well she would give up soon enough. No one ever managed to see his demons and stay the next day. He had no remorse, just a shade of a smile that lingered.

She was adamant, though.

"I know you're wrong, you're just making things up in your head, this logic of yours... you know that's not how the world works, I've been through things too you know." She shook her head as she leaned back against the chair, letting out that long sigh he knew all too well. She wasn't frustrated per se; she was worried about him. He knew she loved him in a way she never would acknowledge.

There was some truth to her words, though.

He knew the world was an endless plane with a myriad of possibilities, a plane twisted and cutting through other planes and existences, giving the viewer, who would be the mind of the person in manifestation, the chance to contemplate that yes, one can be sure of something but one can also be sure that one can be completely and utterly wrong. He used to be one like that until his inner hells burnt him to a cinder and then to a wisp, hells that welcomed him more than people in his life did, but then again, isn't that how everyone would have felt at one point in their lives? They would burn as he did, and the lucky ones would climb themselves out using ladders fashioned from passion, determination, friendship, and support, only to start doubting again. 

They would find their peace again, though. 

Yet now he embraced his hell, where once the demons that he fought against now smiled upon him as brethren, their fires slowly fading to give way to the heavenly hues artists can only dream of. Here he was in a place others had the audacity to deny, and those others included the beautiful, profound, honest yet lost soul that was his closest friend, sitting across of him at the small café. The café where they played music that could span generations, where people forged connexions to span continents, and where hot chocolate actually was what it promised to be. 

The coffee was reputed to be good too, though.

"It's not considered being doubtful to let yourself consider the fact you could be wrong," she insisted, knowing full well that as soon as his eyes locked gazes with hers, she would see an ocean of emotions and a sky of a thousand blazing suns, old by eons and full of a vitality undiminished by pain or by suffering. Her breath caught in her throat as he lifted his eyes from his mug, his smile still there but in a sense not there, making her eyes well up with a sort of unbidden emotion. She hated how much he meant to her, but she also knew where he belonged in the grand scheme of things. 

There was always something about him, though.

Within his hell, he found his heaven. He knew now what he would have never known had he not broken as he did. They all believed that to find solace, one must keep moving, keep fighting, but to what end? How can you find joy when all you do is strive and ask for more? How can you find peace when you struggle and question the world, asking for this blessing or that relief? He knew that to climb meant you were pushing against something to reach a higher existence, yet if all of your hells were in your head, why not do the one thing we can always do? Why not change perspectives?

But not everyone can do that, though. 

When life shot him down, he thought 'things happened for a reason' and dismissed the thing and hunted for the reason. As was with everything else, it was easier said than done, until he came to the realisation that things just happen, and the reasons were what people came up with just trying to feel better about their circumstances. He knew better now, but the world was not ready for this revelation that all they believed in was a figment of their imagination. We were locked in our mind by our own devices against our own demons that we gave the power ourselves to cause our demise. And these demons all had one weapon; doubt.

But not his demons, though. 

Within the space of a second, as he engrossed himself within the deep pools of curiosity that were her eyes, he lost all sense of the unknown, and he had become aware, the epitome of faith and belief. He had embodied his own mind rather than become a product of the mind and all its doubts as other people were. Or maybe they had it different when they fought their inner wars to defend against the hordes of pain, hurt, despair and fury that sought to overrun the beautiful and eternal sunshine of a spotless mind. But that was a topic for someone else to unravel, for he had unravelled his own puzzle, a Rubik's cube of a single color yet a myriad of possibilities with only the outcomes he chose for himself. His smile broadened as he studied her questioning face and knew, truth beyond truth, that he was right. He also knew he had nothing left to prove, for all he was is what he is, as full as can be, as complete as can be, as free as can be.

"You're right, I could be wrong, though."

He picked up the tab again, and with fingers interlaced with those of a calmer, more satisfied woman than she was a few minutes into his attempted explanation, he led her home, a rueful smile on his face betraying that he only regretted not being able to show others the heaven within themselves as he had found his own. He knew someone would stumble upon similar findings, albeit differently than he did, and so he uttered a silent prayer for them for the God he knew would always listen to him, without a doubt.

What if he rephrased his explanation, though?