The Prettiest Woman

 The Prettiest Woman
We were in the same room while back. She isn’t a part of the world before me now, but somehow, she makes her presence felt loud and clear in all forms before me every moment I live. She seems to be everywhere I look and everywhere I go. I convince myself she is merely a part of my imagination; it is only that I have been with her for a long time that I see her in all forms of life.

 

The only way out of this problem is that I should stop gloating over her thoughts, I should stop thinking of her. I wish I could control my thoughts in a better way than I do now. I have done all I possibly could to stop thinking of her, but she always assumes a typical shape before me with every determined effort I make to forget her.

 

Getting rid of her thoughts has become the aim of my life. I do everything possible to forget her, but she pops out of nothing every time I breathe in. She stays till I breathe out, and she refuses to budge from my presence even after that. She is like an immovable pillar that I can only look at. I love looking at her, but she vanishes into thin air if I prolong my stare. I can’t stare into thin air for a long time.

 

I sometimes throw myself in the company of children to escape her thoughts, but she manifests herself in the very child I love the most. I badly wish I could see through the delusion, but the child before me is not a delusion, it is certainly the sweetest child I have known. This way, I rediscover perfection every time I look at a child.

 

She had become the ideal and perfect woman I was looking for all these years, better than the child before me. She has bettered the best: I have often wondered if perfection can really be improved: my answer lies before me. Improving perfection means climbing higher than the zenith I have touched; I haven’t known a point higher than this zenith: I don’t know anyone better than her: my query has become an enigma.

 

I realise perfection can never ever be improved in any form, but it can always be replaced by another entity. The only solution to my enigma is to  look for another perfect and ideal entity. I can do my best to look for someone like her, but I don’t think I can ever find anyone who shall ring the same bells within me as she did. Yet,  I desperately look around me for a replacement.

 

On second thoughts, I didn’t want to look at other women. I have found her, the woman of my dreams. I never ever dreamt of women, so I’m not sure why she appears before me everyday as a solution to an enigma already solved. But then, she can be only a delusion. I know so  little women. I looked around her room, there were no pictures or portraits there, but the world outside the room was full of women and everyone is better than her.

 

All said and done, she was the one who was before me a while back, and she held the reins of the conversation that ensued; chance and circumstance play a great part in shaping our outlook to those we don’t know as compared with our innate tendency to accept people we know as they are. She was a stranger, but I had accepted her as an ideal at first sight. It was the first time I had known her, and yet she had assumed the form of an ideal and perfect woman who walked in my dreams.

 

I looked at her in such a way that she was to remain an ideal and perfect woman for me forever and a day. It seems to be a tough proposition. I never thought I would ever see all my ideals embodied in a person in my life. Like a miracle, she  ticks in a remote corner of my heart with every single breath I take in.

 

Her presence is so strong that she stands before me everyday  deliberating every move I make, and yet I know she cannot be here.  A loud whisper reminds me of her presence every morning, but a soft hoot dims her apparition at dusk . I often wonder if it is a spirit that is before me, but then, I remind myself spirits exist only in fiction. My anxiety knows no limits; I often feel I have been dreaming.

 

I badly want to open my eyes, but I don’t want this apparition to fade into oblivion, as it is  sure to do whenever I wake from my slumbers. If this is what is going to happen, I wouldn’t mind sleeping for the rest of my life. A life spent dreaming of her is sure to paste smiles on my face. I’m going to look like a fool smiling while sleeping, but at least I shall be happy, if only in my sleep.

 

It isn’t that I want to escape into a world of  dreams because I find the reality harsh. I do want to taste the realities of life as they are in their pristine form. The reality is not as bad as I thought it is, I know. There is a typical joy in savouring reality though it isn’t anything like living in dreams.

 

Reality tastes best only if I savour a potion of sweet dreams everyday. At the same time, I want to stop dreaming as soon as possible. I wish I could give myself  a big jolt, bigger than what one gets when struck by lightning.

 

This isn’t going to be possible while I’m in her room. I walked out of her house, it was getting dark, the town once again became vast and imminent, and she once again became the prettiest woman in it.