She made sense.
Everyone comes to a point in their life where everything is just a bundle of confusion, a collection of thoughts just waiting to burst into one chaotic display of fear, of joy, of hatred, of sadness but even such overwhelming feelings could not be surmounted or accounted to words.
'Butterflies in the stomach' they say. 'Unseen but felt' said another. 'Stupid!' called out others, and 'Agh!!' weeped some in pain.
None of it made s e n s e.
None of it made sense to me, not in the way it made sense to them. And, dare I say, I am a sensible man.
A skeptic. A man of logic. Whose adoration for patterns and how things fall into place through a meaningful, historic flow that had a start and bounded for an end. A careful analysis and I could trace back, look for answers, pose new questions, all in meaningful cycle of knowledge thus be attained.
And yet, it wasn't like that. It still made no sense.
I close my eyes. I slow my breathing. I try to focus. And thus my mind, it paints me a picture. A face. A woman. H e r.
I repeated the words, the feelings described. I recounted and retraced of memories and experiences. And the jumbled pieces somehow fall into place. In the world that I've groomed into a mess and confusion, she stood out like rose among bushes of thorns. She illuminated the darkest paths, and even unveiled to me new ones. She was all of these things I could not put into words. But she made all the difference.
She made sense. She made sense when everything else didn't.
- H.
