Pink Tourmaline

This piece originally appeared on The Creative Cafe on Medium

Time stands still, bathing in the moonlight of Universe’s emotions — of secrets, stories, and lives.

Time stood still in the distance. Her thoughts echoed inside of her and without hesitation she shot through them like whitewater rafters shot through rapids on a busy day. Dressed in a white flaring jumpsuit, she stood alone on this beach — her arms crossed against her chest, her eyes staring into the void of the sea.

The evening sky reflected in violet on the light pink tourmaline necklace that shone in the pit of her throat. The whistling winds brought with them some raindrops and chillness. Time wouldn’t budge. She was right there, not caring how the overgrown wisps from the fringe of her hair extended well beyond her forehead, blocking her view, her eyelashes fluttering in the wind.

But, her gaze was fixated. Facing the sea, staring into the void of the horizon.

The evening turned into a misty night. The clouds scurried along like shrouded bits of past misconceptions. The raindrops obliterated into the beach like baby sand-crabs crawling backwards and into the now nearly damp sand.

The sound of crashing waves soothed her ears and the moonlight bathed her in a glorious beauty no one would ever see. Her eyes shimmered in hope, and she smiled for the first time in a long time. She could feel the moonbeam falling on her. Her skin felt warm and cool, all the same. Her feet were buried deep in the sand and were only revealed every now and then by the crashing waves.

The palm fronds rustled above, and a windchill ran across the beach like invisible shock waves on earth just before a quake. Time felt like an endless body of weight as she thought.

Was she a full moon hidden from her eyes?
Or a crescent hanging like a shy kidney-bean with sharp edges? Was she bejewelled?
Or was she finding her way out of the grey cotton mist?
Was she glowing, or was she dulled?

Was she speaking, was she moving, or was it all a giant guile?

Time decided to see the drama unfold. The waves tided along, the sound of movement stopped, and the only constant were the two black irregular rock bodies between the now stagnant grey-blue sea. Purple rain, pink clouds, scores of baby-crabs burying themselves into the sand. Time was watching all this, but without a twitch.

Time’s presence moved from mere seconds into minutes, painfully turning them all into days, and days into weeks.

Or, we wouldn’t quite know.

For Time had stopped still.

Time was captivated by time herself while admiring the beauty reigning supreme — her rigour, and her strength. The waves nodded in acknowledgement, or so it seemed.

Time reminisced, her repressed memories coming to life.

“She was full once, before she was swallowed.
And yet, here she is once again — shining like a CD reflected by the afternoon sun.
She always waned and waxed — unpredictable, and familiar
A passage of time, a movement in nature,

But today would be special.
For she will not be consumed,
But will blaze brighter than ever,
eating up the one from whom she borrows light.

That fellow in yellow.

Today would be different.

Today, the proud yellow dude would rest,
And the silver lass would burn,
but she would also bleed profusely,
in glorious red.

But…
How long before she can bleed more to be taken notice of?”

Time wanted Luna to transform from a mere celestial body shrouded in mist, into a grown body blazing in red.

Time hung her head in anticipation. She looked like a fully-bloomed white meditating lily placed in an intricately painted vase in the middle of an empty European central hall, with marble flooring and gigantic frescos on its ceilings.

Time wanted to play witness to Luna’s growth — literally and metaphysically.

For once, Time was not running out. Luna had all the Time in the world.

Women like Luna rise up, and burn brighter than the sun, literally.

But…
How long before they can bleed more to be taken notice of?

And that is precisely why Time had to freeze, and movement had to cease.

But…
How long before they can bleed more to be taken notice of?
How long?

Only Time can tell.

Cover Image by Eberhard Grossgasteiger on Unsplash