The Reign of The Silhouette

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Sitting in the darkest corner of the room lit only by the distant street lights, I practised the laugh I would laugh when he will say something as such, looking at a picture of my past. Reality hit me fast enough, and I withdrew myself midway of a cynical moment of transient happiness. That night, I was mad; my heart was full of anguish, my blood was rushing annoyance. I wanted to tear apart something dear to me and calm down the storm thundering in me. The mirror never looked so calm before. I must have used up all the tears of his share. 

I wanted him to say things to me, things that he told umpteen times in the past; only meaning them this time. Like many sorries of the past, I am sure it will be empty this time too. But, I wanted him to say it anyway.  I want you, he should have said.  I need you, he should have confessed. He was magic; black magic. I hate how much he could make me feel and how much he could belittle me. May be this is just my head, my conjecture, my fear. May be that was not true at all. How did I end up with this nightmare? 

Wake me up, someone! Hang some dream-catchers on my windows. Open the door and let yourself in; caress my hair and whisper in my ear; wake me up. The devil is sitting guarded on my chest. 

Once upon a time, there was a beauty. She fell in love with the beast. Was it the library? Was it the clocked rose? Was it the castle under the spell? The curse had turned him into a beast; love brought him back. What if my beast is under his own curse? Probably my love was never enough. I loved with all my might, and all my yets, and all my despites. I could not have loved more than I did. Time ticked away and I hoped the man inside will arise. I was wrong. He was never a beast. He charmed me. He beguiled me. He was never ever a beast. The devil, he was.