Backwaters - By my dear friend Maha Ayoubi

Only one thing she cherished midst the mess which drew her life down into loneliness: the rock she thought could know her every thought and every reason...
This rock, she thought, was not something to stare at, but it was something to think of: ... imagine, it wasn't just the accumulation of sand she could pass her fingers upon ; it’s tiny adorable reddish brown pebbles have survived hundreds of millions of years and were destined to witness the world change. Some species, she thought, have passed upon this rock, though, she could never reckon; and have once existed, and were extinct now. And that lovable lilac flower, there by the edge , caressing the spring breeze, and dancing under the sun rays, never existed once; But it does now, who knows for how long, how, where, and when?
Why wouldn’t all these thoughts of existence just vanish as almost everything else did? Just like the sun leaves each day, or doesn’t it?
She looked at the sun and smiled. She was pleased by what she got. She knew she must, at least she helped herself learn this truth she now believes in. This brunette has been born on a day she didn’t know. what difference does it make? Though, everyday was a day of creation, everyday was an inception . she felt so vulnerable to changes she deemed, and she knew it.
Who cared about birthdays anyway? Poverty taught people to ignore such trifles. Poverty has always given people some lessons. It taught them about sacrifice. It showed them how days were shallow and virtual, especially birthdays. What a social cliché? Death mattered, death existed.
A body of social morals and teenager uprising dreams, she thought she owes life and poverty. At least she was able to see the smallest detail of life, and learn to appericiate it! The delicate wings of the butterfly at her fingertips, the heads of the rigid black branches of the trees on the other side of the view, the shy waterfall cascading by the tops of the knolls, everything was there, and everything exists… this existence in itself was something to adore.
She hated to go back to where she usually came from. It was all crowded. A place that escaped life, whatever that word meant. The people there lived within retarded mental limits. Never have anyone of them thought, (Respecting the ultimate meaning of the word think). They stuck to the exteriors. It was a time of total idiocy: A cursed age, when nothing really mattered. People never tried to escape their invisible prisons. As though they were pleased with what they’ve got. She never understood this tendency to lag. As if those people have never tried to think about what life really is. They held to the surface and thought they could judge the world with what this surface seemed to reveal.
Time passed, she never felt it did. She was surprised by crimsons of sunset. She felt the breeze sweep under her hair. She couldn’t stop it... She didn’t want to. It’s not the first time this happens to her.
The breeze touched her everywhere again. She just wished she had some wings to fly and leave everything behind.