I saw you walk down the corridoors of power, the confidence of your voice bringing me to a standstill as it turned heads. Its strange, how your shoulders drew me. Such strength. I wondered whether they would hold me, absorb my tears and lift me up as I struggled alone. The world is harsh and yet, somehow, I know that I shall seek comfort in your arms. I never whispered to anyone of my heart wrenching agony. And yet, when you look at me, your eyes see through me and unveil all my sorrows and I cannot deny this feeling of wanting to cry on your resolute shoulders. Wading through sneers, sniggers, self doubt and contempt, I walk towards my destination. I dreamt of this place all my life. And to give it up is anathema. Should the path of every pilgrim be paved with thorns? Is this the price of worship?Does the kingdom truly belong to those who wear the scourging crown of nettle and thistle?
The pain is excruciating, the journey- a torture. And I stumble ever so often. I close my eyes and feel the touch of your hand on my fevered brow. I know it will be alright. My tears roll down and as you hold them in the palm of your hand, I realize that they were not spent in vain.
I dare not whisper to you what I feel lest you turn your back to me. Oh! To be abandoned by the vision of vigor and determination is to rob me of my will. I would only want to be so wanton and helpless in your arms, not in the embrace of adversity. But even as you contemplete the pages of books, my eyes drink in the sight of you and my lips quiver at the thought of your fingers which innocently trace words.