By Jahnavi Amara
Night arrived, dressed in a cloak of stars and pretty-faced in the moonlight. He shook hands with the Sun and bid her goodbye. Cold is barking from somewhere behind. Night’s pet. She came with such fierceness and intensity you never get to brace yourselves. She seems to be coming from every direction possible, enveloping you in a void of nothingness, leaving you vulnerable. Just as you gain your senses, she pounds on you, trying to tear you apart, trying to break the walls you have put so much effort into building up again. She leaves scars on your cheeks, scars from another battle lost against Cold.
You fall to your knees and look up at Night. He smiles, head cocked to a side, he seems to think you are an unsolvable riddle, and you seem to agree. His smile falters as Cold envelops you again. But this time you don’t fight it.
You have fought every minute and every hour but this time you decide to give up, to give in. You have fought with your head high and fists clenched. You have fought with your heart sheathed and mind secured. You have fought for the feeling of warmth only to lose every time to Cold. Millions of gloves and sweaters but it always ended in a shawl insufficiency.
But this time, you welcome the Cold. You have fought a thousand battles and lost, but you feel victory nevertheless.
Cold envelops you, sending you to the void again. Vulnerable, weak, broken, dying and shivering. But you welcome it. You savour it. The bitterness on your tongue, and the icicles replacing your spine.
You could almost see the demons. Barely clouds of mist, dancing away at your touch. Taunting you and whispering nuances in your ear. But it all goes away and you see a figure in front of you. Crouching, looking like they are holding onto their dear life. With a scoff you realise it’s you.
You look in the mirror. It’s been ages you’ve seen yourself. The old scars had new companions. You trail your fingers along the scars on your forearm and flowers bloom from each of them. It hurts. Like a flower being pulled off from the soil. But this time the pain was of growth, good changes hurt too. You look in the mirror again. It was clear your needed rest, but there in your eyes is a burning fierceness you only ever saw in Cold before. You whisper to yourself, “I’m broken.” The words slip out your tongue like honey, but with none of the sweetness. A wave of nostalgia hits you as you recall every other time you’ve said those three words to yourself.
You smile, it’s been a long time you have and the corners of your lips start bleeding. “But I’ve never been more beautiful.” These words were new, they felt like coal scratching against your gums, but they couldn’t be any more sweeter.
Somewhere in the universe, Night was proud of you.
By Jahnavi Amara
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