The Truth That Hides Is Beauty

For two decades I have searched for beauty. Twenty fanged years have taken me to ruffian taverns, moonlit cemeteries, childhood haunts, lonely hearts columns and every corner of my dreams. The only thing of any substance that I discovered was addiction.
Everywhere I turned I was greeted with sorrow and mayhem, and drunken evenings that I can barely remember now. Even if I did the tales would be cold as a pauper's fire because flowers dare not grow in solitary confinement.
It was as if disease had spread throughout the planet and given birth to the common and the ugly, covering beauty in its sour mists and twisting the colourful into hideous shades of cruel pages.
Demons walked on every street, disfigured and lame and any hopes of finding a gin princess amongst the pulsating thorns were quickly dying.
Then suddenly on the evening of August 14th 2003 as I sat at a table drinking poison and throwing ghosts into empty glasses, I looked upand from across the bar I saw her.
In an instant the darkness I had weaved lifted, the sound of doom which I had orchestrated fell silent. I was alive again. At first I thought that I had succumbed to the effects of the alcohol before me and plunged headlong into a bubbled fantasy, but the smell of cigarette smoke and whiskey chasers made me certain of my consciousness.
Who would have imagined that a diamond could be found in such a dirty little town that thrived on gossip and weekend brevity! She stood alone at the bar like prayer on a condemned man's lips, her warm smile burning those who stood around her to dust, while her elegance put them to shadow.
No need for this doll to talk loudly and giggle for hysterical attention, her sweet whispers said it all; finally I had discovered the rose in wines.
All traces of the black pain which had perched over my grave disappeared, the wings I had desperately grown to escape this life folded and made the sign of the cross over my chest.
I gazed across the smoking ashtrays and frothy pints for thirty or so seconds, my eyes fixed on this gentle figure, and as I did I felt twenty years of bruises crawl back into their dungeon. Never had I seen such a vision of tranquility, never had I heard so many echoes of joy shatter through my wall of isolation.
At once I didn't feel alone anymore, even as she made her way from the bar and out of sight, I felt happiness coil around the grey phantoms inside my head, laying them to rest under piglet eyed love bugs. Soon after I learnt her name which has now become treacle on my tongue. It is the last thing I say before closing my eyes, the comfort that I seek when agony chases my spirits into despair.
I cannot believe the is a bad tune in NF, she is delightful. While others squawk like starved crows for the best seat under the vulgar spotlight, or fight for scraps of attention, Nicola F simmers quietly. Flowered beats seldom need a megaphone...