Posts Tagged ‘one sided’

There I stood

Posted: September 14, 2014 in Poetry
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https://c2.staticflickr.com/4/3363/3257624062_4665eb2f7e_z.jpg?zz=1There I stood before the monument erected,
A fortress wall over time and space perfected.
There must have been a door when you came in,
When you locked the world away from start to fin.

I stood before it day and night awaiting,
I dared to pray and hope, beseeching
You to let me in, for just a momentary glance,
To show me what is hidden, just one chance.

For months I stood before that frozen stone
Till the ice had pierced my own heart to the bone
Till the tarnished moon had cast its final light,
And threw my soul into infernal night.

At last I walked away from that sepulcher of dreams
Where you’ve hidden all that time, it seems,
And when you shall once again emerge to see the day,
I won’t be standing there, I’d have gone away.

Perhaps I’ll never know, if it mattered much to you
That I stood so long, and for so long remained true.
Perhaps it doesn’t matter, not even just one gram,
For in that time I realized that you never gave a damn.

And should the sands of time continue, as they had
I’ll find the sun and stars, I shan’t remain this sad.
But you will never know what I tried yelling at the wall
You still won’t hear it, even if one day, it shall fall.

They sit there

Posted: September 10, 2014 in Prose
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https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4100/4742979094_a5b1bf8b64_z.jpgThey sit there on the couch, just the two of them. They ran out of small talk hours ago, yet they still sit. He glares at the steaming cup of tea that sits on the table before him. She puffs her cigarette, smoke billowing around her dark hair. He glances over at her, trying hard not to stare. She doesn’t know, he thinks to himself. No, she knows, she just doesn’t care. In the end, does it really matter? For months, she has been all he could think about. Every morning, he wished her a good day. And every night, Sweet dreams. There was nothing she could ask for that he wouldn’t do for her. Anything. For her.

He was doing just fine before her. Perfectly alright. Moved home after school. A fancy degree on the wall. A job lined up. Even the car was working. Every day was simple. Functional. Like a clock. His life operated like clockwork. Up at 6, work at 8, off at 6, two hours at the gym, sleep, rinse, repeat. No need for differentiation. Just fine. He was perfectly alright. Then, one day, which quite frankly began just like any other, she appeared. Out of no where. No one asked her to show up. No one requested her presence. Yet, there she was. Slender, dark, fair, with bright eyes which lit the world around her. He was struck. So the adventure began.

His days still operated like clockwork, if the clocks were assembled by a team of rabbits from wonderland under the supervision of Salvador Dali himself. The monotony was broken as his days became consumed with her. All time, effort, energy, were spent. If not with her, then for her. Whether it was planning the next outing, or sitting at the coffee-house talking, she engulfed his existence.

Days passed. Then weeks. Finally months came and went. He told her she was important, of course. One should be a fool not to have noticed that. He told her he cared. He showed her with every action, every word, every breath. All she said was thank you. A simple acknowledgement. She didn’t care for him. Not the way he cared for her. Although it is rather rare that anyone care quite the way he did. He knew that. Yet he hoped for more. More than a simple acknowledgement of the fact. She told him not now. Not today. And so he thought perhaps tomorrow. Perhaps another day. There is a chance.  But the next day came, and went. And the next one after. And the months rolled on. Still he tried, to no avail.

So they sit there, on the couch. Just the two of them. They share a space. A solitary room in which they have spent the last few hours. She has told him of her troubles, without really saying anything at all. Trouble at home, difficulty in class, tough day at work. The usual tribulations of daily life. Many words exhausted, saying nothing of value at all. And he sat there, with his cup of tea in hand and listened, throwing tidbits of commentary here and there. He also said little of value. As she spoke, his head raced. It always raced, but this time it raced with sharp pangs of pain surging through his being as he ached to tell her the battles that go on inside of him. As he ached to ask her of her true battles. He cared little for the soap opera found at home and work. He wanted to know the battles of her soul. The scars that are hidden away from everyone. He wanted to break down the walls and see what is held sacred. That which is truly private. He wanted to be a part of her. Even more, he wanted her to want the same from him.

And yet they sit. In silence at last, having run out of the trivial long ago. She doesn’t want the walls to come down, he thinks to himself, after all this time, that much is clear. He glances at her again. Their eyes meet, and they both look down. He glares at the coffee. She examines the cigarette’s smoke. They are sitting on the same couch, yet they are eons apart. They are not together.  He turns away. If only, he muses, if only I had a way to tell her that she would understand. If I could open my heart to her and have her see what I have been hiding inside. If she could feel the fire, things would be different. But they just sit. The two of them on the same couch. Together, and yet both alone.