Purgatory

The woman in the mirror was a stranger.
Yet I had seen her before.
The world was a better place then. I remember walking next to her underneath the cashew trees, facile talking. Her hands had been resplendent. I was in love with them. How just a mere touch of her fingertips altered almost anything irrevocably was deeply mesmerising to me on a spiritual level.
Her fingertips changed me too. Those tips had worked their magic on my shoulders when I came home after an exhausted day. They fed me occasionally when my own fingers were too lazy for the job. The inferno they flared up in my bones was too wild that being devoured by them was my only hope to revelation.
They never showed me Heaven. Nor the fiery Hell.
They took pride in showing off Purgatory.
But that woman was reduced to ashes. This one rose out of it.
And now she stood there, the skin of her hands adhered to the bone. Shrunken fingers that boasted no magic. No love. No warmth.
My soul recognised them though. They recognised the Purgatory that her fingers carried.
Pale, white ones with no life in them.
Now resting above my jugular.
Purgatory was a damn fine choice.
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-The Violet Woman
LiLLiPuT #8
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Picture Source: Google
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Also on WordPress:

https://thevioletwoman.wordpress.com/2016/08/15/purgatory/