And Life Just Moved On ...
She had got accustomed to the habit of taking really long baths. This had nothing to do with her enjoying taking baths, or anything to do with hygiene or cleanliness but more to do with the fact that this was possibly the only time of the day she could really be wit herself, be with the soul that lie dead somewhere within her, be with the part of herself that she kept buried in the abyss of the human life, a life she wanted but on her terms, a life she desired but hated, a life she loved yet felt helpless.
It was quite strange to understand her perception of privacy, to an extent it could be termed as an illusion, an escape from reality, a hallucination, a drugged state of mind, but it was beautiful to her and that is all that mattered to her. Its all that made her feel alive even when a part of her was dead. Her privacy was a delicate balance between the secrets held deep in her demented soul and the thin line that separated reality from illusion. The bath was more than a moment, it was a liberation, it was freedom, it was life at a given point and death at another. The moment was a way to discover the real her behind the flesh, behind the clothes, behind the values, behind the religion, the naked in every sense, it was her sense of Moksha. It was the immortality of the dead.
There was a beauty to the way she went about the entire process of taking the bath. From, the very moment she entered that space, it became sacred, the click on the door was more than a sign of privacy, it was the first sound of self realization, the sound of freedom, the sound of the mind being free of all thoughts even when the body felt trapped. Her body was not just an artwork, it was symbolic, it was the beauty of life and the silence of the dead put together. Every step she took was like the careful walk of a leading lady deserted on stage watched carefully by a thousand eyes waiting to criticize. Every part of that entire process was an act of Escapism, from the shedding of the clothes to the enchanting aroma of the water and the scents mixed perfectly with the musk of her body.
The water rushed down her body, teasing it, feeling it, experiencing it, a part of nature dying to feel its own creation, every drop that came of her body felt more purer, more clearer, more transparent, the sound of the water rushing down her body created a musical masterpiece. She loved water as much as the water loved her. Water to her meant more than an element, it meant purity, it meant the soul, it meant pain and beauty, it meant freedom yet bondage, it meant life to her both eternally and naturally. She relished every moment of the water slipping down the curves of her beautiful body, she felt every touch of every drop, from the hair, down her forehead in the depth of her eyebrows, down the peak of her nose to the touch on her lips. She would often take in a few drops of the water that went down her lips as if to try and seduce herself. It made her feel lost when the steam from the hot water would cover every mirror in the bath with a sheet of partial existence, it made her feel helpless yet in peace, all this meant more to her than probably any other activity during the day.
She surrendered herself to every trick the water played on her and the surroundings, she on the contrary enjoyed every bit of it, from the water in the bathtub to the drops that rolled down the mirror, to the water that had spill on the carpet, every part of the experience was sacred, like a prayer, a solitude, a poem, a sonnet, it was the two most pure objects in harmony, it was water and the body of a beautiful woman, and she always believed that no two elements of nature create such beauty and peace as water and a woman's body.
Her beauty melted in the surroundings, wet yet dry, warm yet cold, painful yet relaxing, every thought was blurred, every thought was pure, it was like drops of blood on ice, something that is painfully beautiful, something that speaks in the silence, a moment that holds you by its beauty, by its essence of life, she was in a world of her own, this was her privacy, her moment, this was her way of feeling free, her way of feeling special, feeling alive, feeling beauty, her way of feeling life, her space.
She ran both her fingers through her hair taking it back from her forehead to the the back of the head, she stood there staring at herself in the mirror, her image unclear, her silhouette blurred, and she had no urge to wipe the mirror clean, she loved this unclear image, it was easier to deal with herself when she did not have to stare into her eyes, it was easier to move on with life when she did not have to take her palm and wipe the mirror clean. She ran her fingers down her forehead, to the tip of her nose, down to her lips, she could feel the warmth in her breath as the fingers reached her lips, she could feel the musk of her body, as she glided those fingers down her body, from her neck to the depths of her curves, down to her navel, it felt like running down a feather down her body, it teased her, made her feel enchanted, it loved the touch of her body, she was breathing rapidly, and right at this moment she opened her eyes and realized it was time, time to get back and as she wore the mask of the human civilization, she heard footsteps going down the stairs and she knew the day had just begun. The same click of the door that once felt liberating and free now seemed suffocating and ironical.
And life just moved on.....
Source: http://10pintsandacurry.blogspot.com/
