MIRACLES

LOVABLE MYSTERY.

She was a girl of strong personality and was always straight forward in her decisions. What she did, could never be predicted. Not attending her father's funeral and rather, enjoying our 8th month celebration, was something I would never have done. Such a mystery she was. Yes, a mystery.

I recall once, when we were spending a great time together in her lonely apartment, she took a causal break and went up to the kitchen. Made some delicious nachos with mouth watering Dip. By the time she craved her skills in kitchen, my attention seeker was a torn up diary which was kept willingly above the television and below the X-box. The diary was in such a bad state, that I first cleaned it up, then coughed to my utmost satisfaction. I knew she was peeping out of the kitchen. I could always sense her around me, everytime. Still I went forward and opened the devastated mystery box of applauling red inked front page. It was embarrassing to read her father.

Still, I started, his deep thoughts about life and the miserable condition he went through were shocking. He, when a boy of 14, when he started writing this diary. From his rough school life to unconditional love story. The diary had it all.

I was never a reader, so I gave no attention to any specific page and kept turning it on. But in the middle, page 439, as his handwriting numbering said,  there were blood stains. How can anyone expect blood stains in a personal diary?

I started reading from the starting, it read,

        "In ye world of lifeless lone,
  Above  the skies, behind the clones,
        I am left with nothing mine,
        Neither love, neither shine."

Surly he was surly going through some trauma, trauma of a loss. A loss which vacuumed his heart. A loss, which made his head numb and lungs suffocate. At the end of the page, where the blood stains adored the edges of the page, a smudged sentence was written which was half torn and half illegible. I did try to read it hard, but the nachos waited for me. I slipped the diary under her bed and hanged forth the kitchen. Tough I was enjoying the meal, her eyes were running wild in search of the diary. And I, with raised pulses, stammered, and asked about her well being. She said she was fine, faked smile, lost an eye contact, and again she missed the dip bowl.