20.7.25
Because he no longer needs to use them –
and cannot bear to let them go.
Because some wounds prefer silence to healing.
Because steel remembers what the soul forgets.
Because polished pain mimics honour.
Because to sheath is not to forgive.
A warrior displays his Swords as a declaration of survival.
–
I stepped into the room, feeling his presence close behind me.
The room felt like a shrine – intimate, deliberate, and quietly haunted.
To the far left, three oriental Swords were displayed on a mantle, one for every love that broke him. Each blade a vow to guard his boundaries. Swords of clarity born of pain, and discipline shaped by loss.
Around the room, a series of paintings, rendered by familiar hands, captured desire as ritual.
To the right, a bonsai tree sat patiently in a pot on the sill of a large window, its twisted grace silhouetted against a view so unspeakably beautiful, it squeezed my heart to pulp.
The landscape below stretched open in worship. Sunlight rested tenderly over the Creation of a Holy God.
On the wall above the bed, a great, singular Chinese fan opened like a celestial wing – part shade, part sentinel, part grace.
Life breathed into the room, slow and sacred. The space had a mythic stillness, as if time bent slightly around it.
– Lele
Lele Muthali 