Riot

Her face was a riot of colors.  And I could not make up my mind if it was a riot of frolic or a riot of fury. Was it that her limp auburn red hair made her dull emerald blue eyes stand, or that the red hues tried to subdue the thrill of the ocean. Was it that her pale white skin worked as a canvas for her honey smeared pink lips, or that the colorlessness of her skin tried to steel the richness of her lips. And that pure black nose pin looked as lost among the riot as did I staring at her.

I always found my self standing here, at this exciting point where I can make up my mind either way with the same amount of conviction. That is when I always found myself craving for her touch, wondering if it will be warm red or a cold blue.

My trance was broken by her cold fingers shaking my forearm, and as I came back from my reverie I heard her finish of her sentence.. "...ever listen to me". Even before the cold sensation had died out, I was looking for a warm smile on her face but it was not there. She turned her head and started looking out of the window, and I just realized how similar she was to the day that we were living in that very moment. 

The sunlight from the clear window glass energized the colors that she represented but could not break a trace of warmth in her eyes.  A frigid and painfully windy day outside looked like a gorgeous, bright, warm and sunny day from the inside. The glass was letting all of the brilliance of the day shine through without letting the chill become apparent. And suddenly it all became  clear to me.

I braced myself for the cold and held her hand. I did not hear any glass shatter as she turned her head towards me. Her lips slightly parted as she was about to speak but stopped herself. She was mesmerizingly beautiful, the riots ran through my mind every time I faced her. But I stopped myself from being smeared by it, and asked her to tell me what she had to say. 

As she spoke, I came face to face with the riot of thoughts and emotions in  her mind, some of frolic and some  of fury. As cold air gushed in from the cracks in the glass, I felt more alive. Over the next few weeks I came face to face with the blue of her dreams and aspirations and the red of her angst and pain, the paleness of her drab life and the wincing black of her past.

As I heard her more and more, her pale skin became flushed with a tinge of red and her blue eyes sparkled with a fire of assurance. Her hair danced with the excitement with which she lived every moment and her lips smiled their way into the hearts. I had never loved her more, I thought  as I basked in the warm touch of her fingers on my forearms.