The Emotional Part of Ordinary 

The sleepy-eyed girl walks to the washstand and faces another in the mirror, completely forgetting that the sunlight is awake hours before her. While she does so, her sweet mother or generous roommate or faithful lover already prepares her breakfast on the table. The regular delicious smell awaits her as usual, which is what she never even realizes. Like that, when she is so dull about the tiny tiny pieces of her everyday, the girl next door is about to kill herself, craving for a reason to live. With the sleeping pills spread throughout the floor of the room where no lights are on, her wrist and soul are bleeding. Too many tears are wasted. And, the man on the other side of the earth is dying by the sudden car accident. The red lights, the drunk driver, the late ambulance, there are too many causes to be blamed. While everybody is somehow lived by their lives, the nameless French poet, sitting on the dirty street in Paris, pours his emotions into the details of his ordinary life. He verbalizes them on the paper, moving his favorite black pen in his left hand, and creates beauty within the dramas of lives. So many emotions are shined by his left hand.

© 2015 Kiara Belle * To subscribe on your Kindle, please click HERE!!!

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About the Girl

At the age of thirteen, the girl, who could not run faster than her schoolmates, walked to the seashore – to collect white shells from Setonai Sea, the west of Japan. Into the transparent glass bottle, she put the shell – one for each bad day. Instead of wasting nights with tears, before cutting her wrist, she went to the seashore and gathered the shells. At the age of seventeen, when the glass bottle became full, she took the plane – to cross over Moscow, fly over Copenhagen and Amsterdam. Near Notre Dame in Paris, the glass bottle in her arm, she stood next to the photographer, whose mind and camera captured the pink sunset. With no glance at him, she murmured, “What’s in my arm is the amount of my sadness”. His eyes – as blue as the Sea – caught her in his gaze and he gently held her fragile body in his arms. He opened the glass bottle and scattered the shells – into the deep old Seine. Then, he took her hand and they disappeared – somewhere between Brussels and London.

© 2015 Kiara Belle * To subscribe on your Kindle, please click HERE!!!