You see a small river in which you are immersed for a baptism of resilience.
For me, in memory of the days I forgot how to smile.
It begins when you notice the turmoil on the faces of bright flowers
And something shifts in you, making room for pity
First, it is pity for the flower, but then it metamorphoses into pity for yourself
In this moment of self-pity, you direct all the anger of the world to yourself
So when someone says, “Hello”
You’re unsure how to reply
And then in fleeting moments, when you find yourself examining the curtains of the clouds
Trying to figure out the morphology of such cirrus clouds
In all its innocence and immaculate happiness
You think of yourself as a dream
Or perhaps, a comedy for the deity who created you
Maybe, you’re a mathematical problem
Whose solution is found with a simple formula.
Tears + Sweat = A little bundle of no smiles
You look into the mirror in your room
But you do not recognise whom you see.
On his forehead is etched a litany of all the pains from which he was birthed
And from which he inherited the blemishes in his life
You ask him his name, and from the mirror, he answers you.
He says his name is Stranger
You notice a tribal mark on his face
An exclusive identification for a tribe once ravaged by grief.
“Smile, stranger”, You say to him
He shakes his head. He cannot smile
Peering deeper into his eyes
You see a small river in which you are immersed for a baptism of resilience.
You do not understand yourself
But in that refracted couple of flying minutes, it strikes you
That you’re this stranger, and this stranger is you.
Daniel Echezonachi Maxwell is a literature undergraduate at the University of Nigeria. He is an observant writer, and little things draw his attention. He loves writing about human relationships.
Cover photo: Fatih Güney