Not to Fall in Love

A bright sunny weekend in Westford city.

People usually wake up later than usual, thanks to the extra relaxation they can use today.

Or some people choose to have big events, taking these weekends into consideration, after all, these are the only chance to do so.

Spring is beautiful in many senses. Spring brings new life to nature, after cold freezing winter sucking the life out of colorful lively nature, flourishing like a rainbow. Baby leaves growing out of tree branches remind the beauty of the life cycle, how old lives leave their place in this world to make a place for newborns. The blooming flowers, showing their wings of colors, more than any person could ever imagine, or any artist could portray on their canvas, reminds of the wonderful phases, events, and changes in people's lives, and how they leave their mark behind on the pages of memories.

Such a beautiful day should be perfect for anyone, to feel the happiest they want to. To make a change in themselves, in others, and in lives. Spring has that unknown power to it. A power to provide peace and happiness to every living soul.

But how about a spring, which brings a mountain load of pain, and suffering? The urge to cry out loud, melting the year's worth of biting frost of the pain of not getting what you want?

How about a spring, which brings the urge to rip off the canvas of life, instead of coloring it with new turns of events? Just because the only color that canvas could ever hold was, black? Is black not good then?

Why is that, black doesn't belong to the rainbow, even though it can take in any color in it? Is it because it fails to show them? Does the color black only deserve to be the cause of the canvas to be thrown away, after ripping it off?

If that is only the importance of existence for black, what if, white comes? Like a shimmering, glittering star befalling on pitch black sky, without any moonlight?

The canvas should look pretty then, prettier than every other one, right? And the life, which was smeared with darkness, void of pains, sufferings, and failures, gets to live its fullest, thanks to that black.

How about that?

The white takes a lot of time, to make any difference to that black-tinged canvas. Little drops of white, even smaller than water drops, or maybe droplets, can make a huge difference. Only if it is allowed to do, and provided enough time, patience, and faith.

How about, that? How about, providing enough faith in the white?

It must sound hard, but nothing is impossible, right?

The same morning, under the bright, warm sun, giving soothing light to people under the same sky, letting people know about a good day ahead of them. The same morning, which is right now letting some people know that it is time for the auspicious event to happen. The same morning, which is making people prepare to give blessings. Blessings to the bride and groom.

But no one present in the church, would have the faintest idea that, in the very morning, under the very same roof, shining under the same sunlight, and surrounded by the very blessings the couples were getting, someone in a corner was on the verge of ripping the canvas off.

The canvas, which is tinged with black. Black like coal, with no way to reflect light.

And no hints of white.

Westford Central Church. Time? Sharp at noon, 12o' clock.

A couple was getting married, in front of people bustling in the church as evidence of their eternal bond. A bond that would keep them tied until they die. And sealing that bond, a vow. A vow, to keep being the support each other through thick and thin.

"For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer…," the groom in a black tuxedo uttered, without stuttering his words. He must have done a lot of practice, and the glow on his face, beaming with happiness was obvious enough how much he was looking forward to uttering this vow.

"in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death we do part…" the bride had a tinge of pink in both her cheeks, as she meekly said those words. As the words kept coming out of her lips, her fingers brushed over the groom's palms, and her eyes lowered to the ends of her white gown. It seemed like she got shy, or maybe she was trying hard to hide the tears that threatened to come out.

Invited guests were all looking gleefully at the couple, who exchanged glances while saying their vows. Everyone's eyes were on them.

Except for two people.

Two people, doing the same thing, but with totally different intentions in their minds.

A girl, completely unable to see the events happening in front of her. Neither the bright pink blush on the bride's face which was barely hard to avoid, nor the shine in the groom's eyes like a star.

And a guy, whose eyes were completely somewhere else, even though the one getting married was someone really important to him. The bride, that is. His eyes were on that girl, who was standing at the farthest corner of the church, staring blankly at the podium, while her eyes kept rolling the tears like waterfalls. Strangely, he couldn't recognize the person. At least, she wasn't anyone belonging to the groom's family. And obviously, not from the bride's side either. But yet, he never had seen someone cry this badly, as if her entire self was getting washed away. And by no means, those pearl-like tears were happy ones. Rather, those were like the sharp tool, stabbing their way into a large canvas, ripping it into shreds to erase its ruined existence of it. He was reminded of the phrase his art teacher used to say. "When a bottle of black ink topples over a clean canvas, there remains no way to restore or use that. The only fate of that canvas face is to get ripped off and thrown away, only to take another clean canvas to create another masterpiece."

She reminded him of that canvas, which was thrown away by his teacher.

The canvas, which was discarded by everyone.

And the canvas he picked up, out of curiosity, and made a piece of art, which made even his teacher awestruck.

Finally, he remembers her now. She has a really beautiful name, as strong as her presence, but as calm as her appearance. Just like a clear canvas gives a feeling of serenity to any artist.