Her stare is one of peace, like an obsidian feather gliding peacefully from the sky to a comfortable position atop a carpet bed of damp leaves and silt; a feather that is then taken through a serene river over many purifying rocks and past a marine world beneath it. With the warm embrace of her cuddles, passionate outlet of her kiss and cheeks alit as a crimson sunset, she wipes away your woes and pain. Days and nights would pass me by, I would gaze each day through my window, feeling the flyscreen to be a vertical and horizontal prison mesh that would hold back the love of my dreams, and help me glide through time with ease.

The curtains that waved quietly and gently would make me feel as though corrugated clouds were all around me, brushing against my neck, my dark hands and face as soft as tender cherry blossoms preparing for the transition between flower and fruit. In many ways, this is how I saw my life. I was a flower – symbol and embodiment of purity and innocence, though growing with age as each day would pass and longing to be treated as so. From my young age now, I feel that grasp of adulthood bittersweet and jaded as it creeps upon me; yet I am torn between two worlds. It feels like the tower being struck by that bolt of lightning from above, crashing down, ready for a new set of ideas and understanding. I wish I could tell the world, please accredit me for the maturity I have shown for so long and respect me as I do to you.

Change has come about, as my eyes wander through ten glass windows in a door – change is inevitable. Yet, the most remarkable thing about this change is the indescribable nature of it. Where would I start? Would I begin at the myriad of painful questions I ask myself, probing my way of thinking, comparing myself to those obviously more fortunate than I? Perhaps I would start at colours associated with each experience… I would have a limitless rainbow if I had held onto these ideas, but soon would it have become tainted with the grasp of age – adulthood was not known for leniency and purity is easily defiled.

To whom did I owe the burden of this conundrum? Myself. No, I did not place these painful questions upon the love of my life, though she was aware of them. She stood there during my battles with salves and bandages, but never fought my demons for me. They were my challenge and mine alone, and the significance of her true love was to stay by my side despite what the demons had in store for me. Her beautiful brown eyes, inquiring and truthful, with a heart of gold built upon the stable foundations of dedication and perseverance. Each strand of hair represented uniqueness in her personality, though I would hang to each one with every morsel of strength within me as an emblem of my true and vivacious love for her. And I would sleep each night and live each day in the knowledge, she felt the same way but in many different words; a divine paradox.

As the obsidian feather reaches the end of its journey through the lake of purity and innocence, so a facet is brought to its conclusion of enlightenment. But this is far from the end indefinitely – as the obsidian feather may have conquered one obstacle, but faces many more to come within the pure river – though is now guided by the optimism of a completed facet and sustained by its true love.