Deadly Dainty

By Anveeksha Reddy

Delicacy is exquisite, it seems to define the flying sparks of moments, reminding the halcyon of a life filled with contrasts of this enchanting bliss of enigma, erecting the desperate need to quest for the serendipity of my fate, wanting to feed my stomach with mellifluous deceptions of an idyllic life. For a fraction of our lives, we refuse to acknowledge the truth of those venust stack of glass crockery which always radiated a euphoric sense of delicacy, it seemed too peril to release it out of its cage. It was the fear of dropping it and smashing it into irrevocably million pieces which overpowered the desire to relish the experience of ever using it. The irony isn’t lost on the glass crockery, perhaps it seems to hide in the ineffable emotions within me, rather I seemed to be perfectly comfortable with the fear of being hurt overpower my thirst for the purpose of it or maybe it was the fear of never shunning down the pain, it seemed to bring a sense of belonging with its tears, tears which were an elixir for all the torment it carried. Those tiny drops were always eloquent, louder than words, brighter than the glistening windows of the soul. It was always a dubious decision to use the pristine glass but it was too ethereal to be hid away, it was unjust for the beauty of it. But maybe that was a better choice for it or maybe we never gave a choice to the glass to choose for itself because it was known to us that, given the choice, the glass would never want to hid away. It would want to be the limelight, possess the willingness to lose itself into a million different pieces and carry the sanguinity of exploring a plethora of adventures with those pieces traveling to places it always dreamed to behind the doors of the cupboard, it longed to do and it bothered me, I was too stubborn to let it go, let it hurt itself for the beauty of experience, that was nefarious, wanting to cage the potential to maintain the beauty of it.

By Anveeksha Reddy