She was sitting on the bench by the side of the road, staring at the cars passing by. She had a weird look on her face, although was smiling softly but her eyes were so hollow, a little wet. That interested me so I went over to her.
“Are you addicted to something?” I asked, this rude question came out as a reflex.
Her pale, ordinary face filled with a warm smile, her eyes still hollow. She did not say anything for few seconds while my curiosity increased. That look on her face interested me so much: she seemed so satisfied, yet tortured at the same time. At last she spoke.
“Yes” smile again
“To what? Cocaine?” I frowned.
“To…” long pause – “Pain” smile again. I started at her, she seemed sensible enough but God what non-sense is she blabbing. I thought.
“What do you mean?” this was my last attempt to get her story out of her.
“Pain is a drug. The most powerful one. It enters your blood with a prick, without any withdrawal symptoms and takes over your whole system. And in no time you get addicted to it, it gives you pleasure. You know it’s killing you but you love it so you let it take over you. You cut off all hope with your own hands. You leave all the people who love you; you wish they never happened to you. That is what it feels like to be in love with pain” It shocked me how she was telling her story of being tortured without even a pinch of sadness.
“So what next? What happens after that?” I inquired
“That’s pretty much your choice – Either you spend your life whining and letting the grief of the loved one who left, people who didn’t treat you well, fighting God, opportunities you never had, looking for peace, a miracle that would sort things out….Or you could say “Ok God, I trust you and I love you. People and circumstances will not treat me well but I will find a way to fight my way back because I’m breathing and you must’ve assigned me some work to do…so let’s get that done”. That is the only cure for this lust of pain – I’m trying to do that and it’s so exhausting at times, but I’m trying not to give up and live my life. I cry, I fall apart but then I collect myself and move on” her maturity impressed me.
“You’ve learnt a lot in such a young age – You are blessed my child” I kissed her forehead and waved the bus to stop. . I was thinking as I stepped in the bus. Truly the most tortured souls are the blessed ones. They bear light in themselves.”