Loss

Loss

When I look from my limbo up to my worldly life, I see an innocent girl happily occupied with whatever I saw around me, a chaffinch, a lizard on the wet fresco, a lovely tessellated floor, the music of a vielle, the happy laughter of a maiden being flirted with.
Fourteen years and recently married with a man whom I looked up to because of his aristocratic and noble manners. I felt as if in Paradise, flattered by his vigilant attention due to my beauty and the sweetness of my character. My cheerful and easy-going disposition, an openmindesness towards what happened around me made me sing and smile. Life was a bliss. My senses were tickled when I rode that dear little mule of mine, when I touched a dainty dog with the skin as smooth as silk, or when a beautiful boy bowed low and gave me a bough of cherries.
I was brought up to be complaisant, and my mind did not know any other way. Discovering the stiffness and cynical harshness of my beloved one, I withered away. He disapproved of spontaneous joy. I was meant to be a work of art, dead, idealized, representative. That cold froze life out of me.
Here now, in the realm of bleakness, with the wisdom achieved by the loss of bliss, I wonder of this dimmed perspective is an for ever blind-folded one. Will I stay here, will I rise, will I die, will I live?