Maria’s heart howls in pain, resentment and a bunch of contradictory emotions. An injured heart can be unreasonable sometimes and lead to do things that may later cause regrets and more pain. Emotional wounds need to bleed, clearing out all the poisoning feelings, draining away bitterness and rage. Writing allows her to express her emotions without causing any collateral damage.
She is aware that clarity is essential before acting, as emotional reactions take away the chance to grow and learn. So, she freely lets her fingers do the typing without asking or judging; quietly attempting to read in between the lines of the dropping tears from her disappointed heart.
It is hard to hold the need to retort, to control the call to reign over the offender, it's like going against human nature and willingly surrendering to the circumstances.
She compares her situation with an oil lamp, where her emotions are the oil burning the wick, at first they burst almost out of control, but once that piece of wick has scorched and is cut off, the emotional flame becomes steady. Gradually wrath is being replaced by understanding; things become clear as the light of acceptance is turned on.
A peaceful smile illuminates her face as she realizes once again that even in the darkest of times one can find contentment, if one remembers to turn on the light.
"Your feelings will never get you into "trouble," because your feelings are your truth. If you want to live a life where every feeling is filtered through the machinery of your Mind, go right ahead. But don't look for joy in such machinations, nor for celebration of Who You Are" -Neale Donald Walsch
I stare at you from afar, Like a thief I hide and survey I wonder how happy you truly are I muse how devoted you really are I ponder how you can live like that...
Without a thought I walked away from my hiding place No longer aware that I may be seen I get closer to the window that is keeping you away Looking through and devouring your image Hating the disguising clothes hiding your exquisite figure
With rebel tears running through my face I hold my urge to call your name I’m no longer begging, imploring or pleading I’m done with all that!
I’m going away Leaving you in my past and by no means, coming back
But then again I know I should return To steal a glance every Thursday at noon when you are by the window praying to your God while sending your forbidden love to me
You kept your promise But I can’t keep mine The pain and loneliness is unbearable knowing that we will never be together
… And that is what she did for the very last time in her earthy life… she bit an apple before choking to dead… What a derisive way to die… so simple, so unexpected and so unbelievable. She didn’t even like apples at all, but had gotten this one to eat while trying to swallow the idea that her name wasn’t appearing anymore in the magazine… that it wasn’t a nightmare but the unbearable truth… someone else was the Editor of her magazine, someone else had taken her life away. She looks down at her laying body, resting in a comical position, and then she pays attention to her blue face with wide open eyes, a pathetic portrait of someone gotten by surprise. What a depressing way to die… totally out of place for a sophisticated woman like her. She should have died surrounded by drama and glamor, with much more excitement and sense of risk… but there she was choked to death by a mere unattractive apple. "What will people say? That she couldn’t afford caviar and champagne for breakfast anymore; that she was finished and broke". With relief she realizes that she isn’t alive anymore, that she will not have to face their mocks, humiliations and sniggers. She will not be there to hear them saying: “The Iron Queen was killed by an apple… a simple, unappealing apple…hahaha!”
All of a sudden she begins to laugh, so loud, so unreservedly, and so freely that she started to choke again… “But wait a minute! How can she be choking if she is already dead? Something isn’t making sense”. Suddenly her line of thoughts is being interrupted by a deep and sharp pain in her chest. She feels the need to breathe again, to fill her lungs with a big gulp of pure, rich and tasteful air, so she does… The nausea and pain are overwhelming; she is breathing with difficulty and can hardly hear what people say around her. She takes a few minutes to compose herself, but as soon as she does, Ambrosia wants to drop dead once again... everybody is looking at her with sadness and concern, feeling sorry for her. The shame is too much to handle it with class, so she fakes to faint and then keeps her eyes tightly closed until the paramedics place her in the ambulance for further treatment.
How can she choke in the restaurant of one of the most exclusive hotels, exposed and threatened in front of the most important business people! She doesn’t want to even imagine how awkward she should have looked when “that somebody” was performing CPR on her while attempting to save her life… Gosh, she’d rather be dead than alive… the shame is too much indeed.