Love of a kind

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The hour is late and consumed now seem the thousands of words that have been spoken out, prior to this moment where parting from each other looks inevitable.
And whilst efforts were requested from both sides, in truth, the scales were never even. For they were always being pulled down in your favor by the many scars you carry with you and which the surface of your body fatefully attests for, if one cares to consider.

What a silly little girl she now seems to be, when she recalls how far she followed you and ultimately how little more she is now left with.

For with you, she was prepared to go to placeless places she had never been. For you, she had willingly opened her heart like a child who flies the kite for the first time. And by you, she stood and would continue doing so, like the misunderstood Viking angel warrior you would one day comprehend, or so she thought…

And yet if not her, then, did she righteously asked herself, who ever will?

Who will ever want to know you, once you unleash your darkest secrets? And be sure to know that in this life, you will inevitably have to share them all, if you ever wish to pretend to ‘true love’.
She did. she followed without ever turning her back and like the unknown hero of something that was much bigger than her at the time, she dared to face a truth that was ever so dark and that would inexorably make millions tremble. The sort of truth she could have never forecasted when the journey began and with it, ‘the all or nothing’ as she once claimed.

Who will ever want to stay with you, once they meet your inner demons?
And be sure they will…
She did. She fought and She fought, and She fought even more without ever tiring, as long as there was hope. For, with certainty, hope is one of her core light, if only you had spared little time knowing her inner self more. And so, changes happened, and hope was served well, for most of your monsters disappeared with time. All, except the last one. A nameless old inner battle of yours that would always come out faster than the speed of light, once unleashed. But first and foremost, a last torment which only you could deal with and in the harshest possible way, so it disappears forever more.

But a sadder truth is if the story of you both was to ever to be told, undoubtedly, most people would recall the deeds and choice of hers, a true and noble act of love. You never did. Proving your points and arguments fueled by that inner torment of yours, was always more important than whatever battle you both had won. As if small details mattered more than whatever beautiful things you both had accomplished within the macro of your voyage.

And so, it is that old inner Judas of yours who will have won over her and a final stroke that shook her enough to put her on the ground. And despite the tears that followed and the pain within and the words of hopelessness which were thrown at you and which many men would have recognized to be a call for the ultimate fight for love this journey must have so far, you simply ignored her. You turned and fled. And with this concluding act, you turned off her light.

As the sun now sets, this final moment begs to ask the ultimate question as to why did you not simply left her to be before you bonded with her ? And where is the soundness in wanting a person so hard, for so long and by day but also sometimes by night and once you have gained her love, her trust and some of her power she so freely gives you, to do so little to cherish it and keep it like a life treasure?

In the grander scheme of things, she also wishes to say to you there is no point in this life of yours which you have filled with hundreds of people, women and experience, if when faced to one solid and true human experience, you act as if you had lived seclusively in a cave for most of your living. And would it not make more sense that, throughout all the stories that you have touched and accumulated, including your own, you be the quintessence of the best humans have to offer while we still live ?

In this realm of ours, the universe still freely gives second chances to specie like you. And yet, what is to become of our world, if people no longer want to play along and be the key players, hence the givers of such chances, for the hurt is too great?

Like you, in this life, she has seen much and with it, she has felt even more, henceforth be sure that she shall heal. But also know that instead of having been the crucial one that would powerfully contribute to her body and soul and ultimately conquer it all, she shall now remember you merely as the one who let it go. Instead of embracing the person that she was, you tried to shut it down and you hurt it in ways that are forbidden for species like herself.
For truthfully, you were indeed her vulnerably since the day she decided to live this epic story till the end and a better one, as she hoped for. But it is also a weakness she shall never regret having given you, for this is the only way love will ever be able to create a magnus opus between two people, if it is so written. Be it now and forever and amen to it all !

Sophie Parou
Freelance writer

Motherly soul

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Hail to you, gracious lady who now sits amongst the wisdom of the elders. Sage goddess, who once upon a time, thrived in the rank of the most skilled warriors of our time and from amongst the people of the pillar that still stand till date. Motherly soul, who needs no one but who is so much needed by the many.

It is you I saw, when on a quiet Friday afternoon, I flew to Siwa in the pleasantness of my daydreams.

Hidden from an ever so changing world, there you were, majestically sitting in the inner corner of a beige Amazigh tent which you composed so well with that all-powerful inner sagacity that emanated from you.
And whilst your deep dark eyes were staring at me for a while, it is as if the entireness of what I was and what I had become till this very moment, were being pierced all at once. The warmth of a very bright light was all I could feel. And like the naïve hidden child some of us have retained within, I did not even wish to fight it and perchance could not have, even if willed so. The very core of my own self was now being scrutinized and entirely exposed in front of another, without the fraction of a resistance on my behalf.

Why I have met you on the path of my stargaze, I do not know. And as much as am aware you saw what few have ever seen or ever could, my inner curiosity mostly draws to wondering what your earthy name is. Though, the distance between our next encounter in this plane, is near, that I am sure of. And till we meet again in some placeless place under the Taziri of the desert night, I shall cherish the immensity of the warmth you somehow laid over me on that discreet Friday afternoon from afar.

Sophie Parou

Free writer

When they spoke in year MMXII

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In the peaceful and remote county of Cantal, it is around a large fireplace, situated right underneath the octagonal roof of the now abandoned house of Rouvray, that they gathered once again and as they usually would, once a year, upon the announcement of St Sylvester.
The night was in its zenith and a humongous amount of majestic stars had shown up on this occasion.
And whilst the seven mages were calmly standing on top of a ruby red Persian carpet that still smelled of a rare type of frankincense that similarly reflected the wisdom of the entire room, they all began to chant.
But the song was no particular one for it was a melody they only knew the meaning of and which was ultimately drilling down to tap their ninth consciousness, the source of cosmic life force.
‘The comet is on its way; the comet is on its way and you can see it!’ suddenly said a young boy that dashed in front of the assembly in the same speed as the fireball he described.
The youngster who had ran two miles from the village of Belle Luge where he had been sent from, was out of breath and clearly disturbed by the unusualness of what he had heard and possibly witnessed.
The wise ones stopped, observed him for a seemingly eternal glance and whilst discretely smiling, as if foreseeing what just had happened, they simply carried on with their purpose.
The boy sat near the large chimney and whilst observing the sky from the corner of his eyes, as fate will have it, he would also be able to plainly absorb the scene that followed and which would greatly influence his future path.
As tradition goes, Hamza, the eldest of them all and whom by now accounted to over three hundred and twenty years of age, stood up. And whilst slightly raising his arms, he spoke and said: “Sometimes, let us remember that as many earthy life there are, as many paths there shall be. And even the clearest heart will, at times, see his road diverted to very unusual encounters.
For in truth my old friends, the universe and The Hand above it that knows it all, shall one day take you to unforeseen side-track paths and yet, to guide you but only better”.
Sophie Parou
Novelist

Credit: Pic by Novum1

Les desesperes

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The maestro had lost his way in the Anima Numdi.

And whilst playing jazz on his own in contemplation of what was left of his life and some of the music keys that still sang right, he kept on thinking how empty the journey was.
But simply too tired was he to change things otherwise.
In vain, he had been consumed by the loss of the one he once loved and possibly the only true thing he had ever been determined to have once but could never acquire again in this lifetime.

But most extraordinary and sad of all, in the present tale which I now recall, the man behind the curtain and whom I met by no existing chance, resembled no mere hero but a flamboyant Ares that rightfully possessed the delirium fire within.
He was the image of an impregnated d’Artagnan full of life and ready for combat.
Yet, he was barely but a simple man of our ages, blessed enough with all the required qualities true men of this time need to be able to turn wrong into right; but all of which, in truth, he could never willed so to attain without that which he had once known and lost. For it was, to put it quite simply, “the missing spear” secretly coveted.

And many earthy pleasures had he exhausted within the darkest abyss of life, in an attempt to bring back to remembrance that which he once felt or perhaps forget forever so its name and existence.

But nothing, absolutely nothing could quiet down his insatiable yet magnanimous soul.
Regrets and sorrow had overcome the ‘living of the moment’ long gone…

And of the exactitude of the thing which rendered him so much emptiness and desperation and which he sought for so long, no one knew with certitude what or who it was. Some say it was a woman, whom he once met in the new world. Others will disagree and say the wealth driven and prerogative of what the family wants you to be from birth simply empowered every single little thing he ever wanted to become and more importantly acquire on his own…

On the fourteen year of the second millennium, the maestro, tired of combatting some fake causes he could only care for a while, revered his hat for the last time and decided to leave this plane at last.

And thus came about the story of Tariq, by his birth name, who had indeed given up the train of life and decided to take what he hoped would be another ride, another chance, on the other side…

Sophie Parou
Novelist

Page 359 of the continuous journey

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I am the one with a line that has no beginning on this plane
but little care do i give to this, except for its grand ending !
I am a walker of the path nine …the one that happily precedes the last,
and merry at heart, day after day, i play the cast.
I am the child queen that kept on going despite the blasts, for every dark minute that sinks in the past ultimately represents its equal light !
I am the warrior of heart who was once told to keep quiet but too mighty was i, to ever comply…

Credit: Pic by Carlos Quevedo