That terrifying journey.

Can I tell you of a journey I once took with a stranger? Their name need not be mentioned at this moment. This stranger was a terrifying character and I do not know what possessed me to keep with them for so long. This stranger told me many things for which I am thankful for. In between tears of fear and sighs of relief, I managed to remember what they told me that night I met them.

They said to be careful of the power and might of their wagon; the media.
Play a simple yet smart move; for false hope was their game.
Like a plant needs water to grow, it grew on whispers.
When patience was scarce, they would call on their trustworthy friend, lust.
They told me that the aims of men were far and many; but his sole aim was corruption.
Hearts, he longed, to blacken.
In times of weakness, Shaytaan was his master and he let him take over the reins.

The stranger had a photo in his hand; they stared at it and looked back at me with a grimace on their face. I was breaking in sweat, I could feel my heartbeat rising uncontrollably through my chest, I feared they could feel it to.

“To every coin , there are two sides”, they said. ‘But we are far apart, worlds apart relative to the mere distance that separates head from tail.’

They paused.

‘Need I be brave and dare I say we are infinitely apart, however hard I try to imitate it. Successful, I shan’t be but I’ll exist through trying, I get enough pleasure from it’ .He started, ‘This real thing….

Race, colour and creed it transcends.
True happiness and felicity it cultivates.
The heart is its vessel with no walls except the limit of its giver.
With me, I operate in the confines of one’s head, access is never granted to the heart for it welcomes the real thing and repulses at me every time I try to infiltrate it.
It’s an attribute of the Most High, now there is something I cannot compete with.
However successful I am, the grave I can never live in.
It unites enemies, how can I compare?
Its media are fluid and far, through marriage, motherhood and the like.
Effortlessly, it allows a mother to forget the pangs of labour while she stares into her child’s eyes.
I use whispers to grow, it grows through nurture.
My furrow is not tangible, never permanent. However, it enjoys an eternal home in the crevasses and furrows it creates in the hearts of men.

‘It would be foolish to deny its power, its grasp but remember this’ the stranger said, ‘How many hearts have I corrupted in my attempt to imitate it?’ .
My legs were shaking now, there was nowhere to run.
He continued, ‘Tell them of me, tell them of the illusion of False Love and tell them of my quest to climb the first rung of the greatness of True Love’.