Posted in Poetry, Writing

Makeup Girl

14145536_1090829290964144_276140883_nIn the mist of the storm, a stunning outline emerged. Her beam dismantled logical boulders, thus energizing dreams, with paramount splendour. Though unable to speak, mostly due to unpreparedness, I mesmerized. Nowadays, mercy prayers pour out of me foolishly, in awareness, that it was the Lord and not chance, whom sent such beautiful blessing. Still, I trusted that mine eyes would witness her countenance once more, in such a way, that lightning formed a colossal eye in the sky, along with a voice that said, “no one will separate you from the source of all autonomous data.” My soul befell before me engulfed with righteous anger ― after many hurdles in between trials and tribulations, who shall be daring enough to die by my sword? Life is nothing more than a continuous battle for ownership. The gift of immortality bestowed by the gods is our capacity for love. Many are those who have fallen never to reach destiny. Then there are angels, whose worship is strength in the wake of actions. Protected by the gods at all times they are. Incorruptible, indestructible, unstoppable might of righteousness. Was she an angel? She very well could have been. Her charm outclasses every precious stone known to men. Magnetized by intense desire, unable to rest, I laid in bed. My thoughts raced and my fortitude questioned, as this was the very first, of many magical nights.

Each unconscious disorder shattered through psychic stillness. In view of that, hallucinations are unambiguous. “Travel through the portal,” a fairy suggested, “energy abounds, and time is fully absent.” As pixie dust expelled from her wand, she smiled, and hastily disappeared. “I would endure a hundred winters for one day of her warmth,” I spoke, but language delayed. A mysterious golden arrow shimmering with glitter appeared in her place. It pointed towards the woods, the appalling place where kingdom of shadows once reigned. Next doubt, fear, and unbelief, made themselves known. Nonetheless, I returned home without more ado. It was pizza night.

The next morning as sunrays arrived, uncovered windows upon such warm and caring heart ― chaste adoration caressing an angelic figure into awareness. “Are you thinking of her again?” my journal inquired. There was no reason to mask the truth, since it knew me entirely well. On occasions, I loathed anyone acquainted with details about me. However, I kept feeding it anyway. Her blank pages were magical canvases where quills became brushes. Dipped in ink, they resembled unlimited multihued paints, which indiscriminately guided my hands, through the creation of exquisite masterpieces. With seamless precision, an orchestra inside my head, quills, papers and inks, all an extension of self: for the affable pleasantry of angels. Time did not matter when stripped from its power. Therefore, following the morning cleansing ritual, was the liberation of sensually provocative underwear, and freshly fluffy socks. How did I know? It was a secret, I pinkie-pledged. All the same, the more I thought about her, never-ending revelations, mostly romantic, at times corporeal, trespassed into my psyche with the oomph of blissful radiation. Unexpectedly, I fell in love with literature.

At dusk, meditating about her before the basilica fountain, peaceful, tranquil, a sense of wellbeing showering my very existence with incomparable force fields which emanated lovingly from her thoughts. Then suddenly, resented and mischievous sprites materialized. They insisted on possessing unmerited answers to imprudent questions, “who was responsible for such meagreness?” I ought not to, but I replied anyhow, “My faultless lovebirds deliver notes on schedule.” Then machinations brimmed with further hatred as they forcefully inquired, “A prudent venture did you say, how come?” So I noted down a comprehensive catalogue.

  1. She often smiles while reading my tweets
  2. Our love is magical and paranormal
  3. Our minds work as one
  4. She is my soul mate

Her love is the medicine my ailing heart was longing for. Though many are those blind sighted, unable to recognize the powers which are unseen, if they only knew that those very powers make our lives meaningful. Humankind seems to be slightly crowded with insolent and impertinent rubbish, which makes possible for trance states to be more valuable. They are gateways through which we may time-travel, thus unscrambling ourselves from the mundane. If time were infinite, then enthusiastic dynamism would not be necessary. I have found the entrance, there, standing before me, the gates of heaven. At that very flash of blissfulness, I was complimentary. Then I heard a thud, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw them talking, plotting, green with jealousy, as they were unable to grasp fully the workings of those magnetic forces connecting the two. I chuckled, turned inward, and there she was, smiling at me. Radiating with healing tenderness by means of unhindered love, we floated over white silky sheets, and into a time without end.

Spellbinding secrets buried amongst angles, curves, and mounds. Her sensual portraits fostered illusions. Still, time accelerated along with other qualities not ardently suitable under states of undress. Even so, my beloved, I must wait on thee. As no earthly being within light years can judge against the beauty of thy wholesomeness, or draw near, the insoluble heart, which had imprisoned me. Lying on the sand, staring at the stars, I wondered if it was genuine, or just wants for inspiration. Alluring as calligraphy, the radiant psyches transpire, unaffected by sorcerers, and immune to black magic. The flow of Chi’ through the meridians brought forth an irreplaceable mystical air of equilibrium to all my senses. She is elegant, eloquent… self-centred… perhaps… regardless of all, her electromagnetism is heavenly pure, innocent, captivating. Unblemished by corruption, carol bells, lights, decorations, presents, the magical sounds of ‘White Christmas’ by Frank Sinatra. “At the heart of the ballroom floor, let us meet, dear mademoiselle. Because if thee allows me the honour, I would forever be enchanted with thy aura.” Following my declaration, sound waves constructed masterfully alongside hypnotizing chants, vibrated through earth’s substance with such transforming passion, it wept uncontrollably. And as my heart reloaded by means of her motherly assurance, innocent tears, were liberated. “Unseal the indiscernible manuscripts buried within energetic fields wrought with ones and ceros,” said Eros before sending whimsical arrows, empowering strength of character. “Do not be troubled. They harm not. But rather promote absolution, indifference, autonomy, introspection, and resolve. The reason why revelations of queries by daring convictions, enlighten the inquisitive fundamentals, of all understanding.”

Her beautiful countenance is further astonishing after restful sleep. And no mortal soul is capable of reducing into unadorned words, the origins of such lovely sunshine. If it were that effortlessly, no honourable value would-be found, would not you agree? Masterfully designed treasures surrounded by sparkling assets. Love surpasses all understanding. As thoughts passionately unscrambled before reaching my notebook, a magical map came into view. On the left side of it, written in untainted blood, the words, “For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required: and to whom men have committed much, of him they will ask the more.” After that moment, darkness surrounded my dwelling place escorted by swarms of unhealthy crows. Their zealous desire overwhelmed with hatred, in the attempt of ruining my concentration. They chanted, and chanted tirelessly, outside of my window. However, fortunately enough, lamp oil was more than readily available, and so were earmuffs.

As pale gleams of tempered sunlight fell through rose windows, unusual nuances, mingled fervently with electromagnetic déjà vus. That is when an unrestrained jolly reworded the script. Describing that beyond the leafy and carroty horizon, love, health and privilege, awaited forever with limbs wide open. “Whose insipidness has thee allowed to tarnish the opus of thy fruitfulness?” I heard the Lord speak. Like a baritone echo roaring with such thunderous unrestrained strength, it enlightened each and every candle jar within its reach. Virtuous harmonies accompanied by rhythmic twinkles, bopped over and above the starring blue, each tad of all, reminiscent of her. Soft and delicate rosy cheeks glimmered with youthful and exquisite charm. Her sheer lovingly gaze, thawing away, every lone and barren glacier. Unapologetic nippy breezes rendered uncovered the quintessential assets that inspired the approaching season. Her pleasant beauty filled hearts with an exhilarating magic, and at the same time, colourful sprinkles garnished by chocolate donuts completed the extraordinary one of kind imported paintings that she loved. Fallen unto breathtaking states of affairs, amused I was, with visualization. For that her spellbinding ease rooted an unrivalled purity within me, thus yielded my flesh without struggle, as once upon a time.

© Ernesto Parrilla


I am a devoted dreamer, schizophrenic runner, eccentric bookworm, green tea addict, magical realism writer, in love with romanticism.

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