Creative Writing

Wildflower

The story of a certain bewildering beauty is one that's hard to tell. Though my eyes have seen it, I often worry my lips lack the ability to convey proper. Words fail me. A function of the mind maybe. Who knows?My short life doesn't imply a lack of certain knowledge. I'll tell you it must have been one of the most inebriating things the King ever made.
                                     *****
"Are you sure about this?" I looked at him with warm eyes. The silver moonlight kissed his skin as his eyes hovered over my head. He never really could look at me when we spoke. He termed it respect, I termed it timidity.
"Sure about what?" I asked.
He looked down at our intertwined fingers and then looked away again.
"Us..." He said softly.
"Well, what happened to us?" I questioned again, feigning ignorance. I fear I knew exactly what he meant.
He sighed. "Dame, you do know what I mean."
I looked at him with a raised brow as though further questioning him.
"I'm an outcast. A mess. A mistake. Nobody should be seen with me, and you know that. I care about you..." He swallowed "I wouldn't want to spoil your reputation."
I looked at him through narrow eyes, yet the words came softly "I never once did complain, did I?"
He closed his eyes and pulled in a deep breath; drowning a fear that seemed to murder his faith. His bony face twitched showing he was deep in thought. The details of it enthralled me and I found myself gazing each time I took the sight in.
"Faint heart ne'er won a fair lady." I said squeezing his hand a little tighter with a slight smile on my face.
"Yet I have you." He pulled me in, wondering why the King blessed him with me. It was quite the opposite. I was blessed with him. Or maybe it was mutual. He helped me keep my sanity. Yes, I had a lucid moment in my madness whenever he was with me. I'd never let go. Even, for my own sake.
Maybe he did speak right. Maybe he was all those things. Maybe he did have a rough exterior. But we've been told not to judge a book by its cover, haven't we? I swear to you, that's exactly what everyone did. He was held in contempt. Much because he had not the exterior beauty of society's standards. I wouldn't blame them. It was the easiest thing to do.
The scorn and the disdain; he was trampled on and insulted. Called vile, he was damned and spat on. He said his past caused it. I often wondered what he meant; I didn't see what he spoke of. Not because my eyes could not see it, but because I looked beyond it. The King would have wanted that, wouldn't he? I mean, he did say to show affection and tenderness to all. I only gave back what I had been given. Like a flower in spring, I saw something lethally beautiful open up. Art and colors, intricate patterns were the form of his heart. He was free, resilient, uninhibited... I'd say he was MY wildflower. I imagine the King made him on the best of days; when flowers sang beautiful melodies and atoms warmed him. An indescribable beauty was his. Yet he looked at himself in the mirror and he saw nothing.
I felt a piercing pity. Not for him, but for everyone who never even tried. For everyone who stayed blind with eyes wide open. For everyone who stayed ignorant, willingly. I mourned for them. In some hope that they would taste true beauty someday, not the lies they knowingly fed themselves, my heart ached.