A Devious Exchange

Aged like a Fine Wine

A maze of the mind; that's the phrase I'm looking for.

Grievances, flashbacks, sudden shocks, and building of blind love all bud from the same start, from within the eye. Shocks are overcome quickly, a little jump scare from a child lasts only a few seconds before minding your way once more. Not another thought is made; the maze ends the moment it starts.

Other sights are not so much, like a sparking new relation to a beau. The heart pangs and the mind runs wild, alluring their owner to wonder deeper into their own imaginations. More conversations are made, more time is spent organizing and holding onto each word of the lover like gold. The tongue is pulled to create never-before spoken words of intimacy, and the limbs soon follow as their user falls deeper into the unknown maze of the mind.

The feeling of love is a powerful lure that drags its prey into the inescapable labyrinth, promising to be a guide for the holder's desires in exchange for their compliance with never stopping in the maze. All is well until new thoughts arise.

Thoughts are a more articulating matter. Carved from their owners to combat the heavenly emotions, the angel to the devil if one could describe. They give reality to the shallow 'feelings;' that the shock wouldn't happen again, and the pull of love may not be as crystal as what our feelings tell us.

The picture before begins to melt as skepticism ignites. The heart settles and the mind pauses momentarily to process the conversations, as does the owner in the maze. Comparisons are made. Doubts begin to bud. The gold of the beau tarnishes as realizations come about, the tongue and limbs cease to move as the feeling of love dissipates. Now, there is no guide besides logical thoughts, but that will only leave us stranded in contemplation.

The fight between feeling and thought is never ending. The pull and tug to run are too alluring to not succumb too, but the abrupt realizations are inevitable to run past. Either way, the maze had begun and brought forth desires and realizations personal to each owner. It only gets bigger and more complicated as diverse sights are seen, felt, and uprooted. She is inescapable, but each step taken will be all too important in the next run. 

I often wondered how far in I was. 

A blurred figure barely brushes past my nose. Blinking my eyes quickly and unconsciously muttering out an apology unheard by my own ears, I realize a hand waves in front of my face from an unknown, middle-aged man. His eyes are a clouded, pale gray that squint slightly into my own, his forehead lines wrinkling less as he realizes he has my attention. The waving hand settles to the rough wood counter separating us, and the man takes a seat onto his worn barstool with a loud creak.

The loud collage of deep voices returns from around the packed room, mainly men talking about whatever with their comrades lined at the long, wooden tables. Floorboards creaked with each footstep, glasses thumped down onto the tables with each swig, and a welcoming bell rung as each traveler walked in. Various beverages filled their individual glasses that my nose involuntarily scrunched at to block the smell. It was an alluring sweet odor that compelled the newcomers in, but it only drove to give me a headache after so long.

'It's a job.' I remind myself.

Turning to the now impatient man before me, I nod my head to signal I'm ready for his request. Just with that gesture, another lost black curl freed itself from the bundle of pinned locks behind me. I had cut my hair to the shoulder recently despite my mother's objections, like she or anyone would know with all the thin caps we wore. I hated the caps, refusing to wear them even while at work in an already stuffy shack in the middle of our village. My thick hair just made the strangulating feeling so much worse, and what else was I to do when I found a pair of shears lying about on the kitchen table.