He laid his hands on the slender neck and flicked his thumb in a loving caress over the sloping shoulders. His fingers softly traced the edges of the mouth as droplets of sweat fell on his chest. He tightened his grip, a lump formed at his throat, and he let out a low sigh.
The last drop of wine was drained, yet nothing was better than before. He pulled another of these elongated bottles from the carton, this time wiping the opening with his palm instead, before taking another gulp. He couldn’t think and he didn’t want to speak.
A sketch of the chateau on the wine label, with fine cursive print indicating its St Estephe origins, spun discordantly from the rest of the room. How many times had he confided in the deep red liquid within, about his heart that had turned tough and cold like clayey from the region?
The first bottle rolled to the floor; it’s emptiness bringing a resounding clink. There, he saw her face again – the comforting words she had said, the peals of laughter that brightened his day.
He had once thought that he loved these other women in his life, but only came to realise that each of them were shadows of her. Each time he smiled at them, his heart called her name; when he imagined that he had found a new interest, it was but a feeble attempt to forget her.
One mistake – and that paradisiacal life with her was annihilated.
What remained was the smooth glass that felt like the delicate touch of her skin, and the bittersweet Merlot lingering in his mouth to remind him of the taste of her kiss…
There are people who speak a lot and sound like they care.
There are others who don’t speak too much and do what it means to care.
Yet people often like to hear it rather than sense it.
But talk is cheap. People say things they don’t mean, because they are seldom held accountable for empty promises and figurative expressions. For the sensitive, walking away becomes harder, because those words muttered meant something; erasing memories got tougher when words could lure the shadows of memory hidden in the corner of the mind.
Those spoken words once meant something to the listener. But that began to fade, and it came to light that all was merely glib talk.
Brand new book that arrived in the mailbox got me thinking once again about exploring certain countries and fulfilling the dreams of writing/filming/photographing everything encountered along the way.
I’ve decided to start a new tab for photos that I take with a smartphone on random occasions. Each shall come with a few (often despondent) lines, sharing the thoughts that ran through my head when I snapped them.
Web of Light
That entanglement weaved weakly through the darkness, in a futile attempt to introduce brightness, but to no avail. It stands alone – unnoticed, unappreciated.
The casual mention, almost like a tease, broke him.
A slip of tongue revealed that her career would come to a conclusion tonight.
She would no longer set foot on the stage – this very arena that had left him besotted by her allure. She lowered her head and flashed a fatally attractive smile; the spotlights that touched her softly illuminated the artful shyness. As mutters of protest grew louder, he fell speechless into the darkness.
Crystal-clear notes from the violin began to flit ambrosially to their ears. Each word that escaped her mouth refreshed him like the summer rain, yet pierced his heart mercilessly. Anger, frustration, then helplessness. Despite the five-mile distance, he felt her enchanting hand gestures transcend space to caress his face. No amount of fury could withstand the seduction – he felt a tight compression in his chest, squeezing out his last breath. Blood gushed in his vessels, and his heart melted away.
The last time. This would be the very last time he saw her and heard that one-of-a-kind voice. He knew now, as she took that final bow, that it could not last forever…
Yes – this is the continuation of “the listener”
They say, good things come to those who wait. I have never believed in that. I am impatient. I need work to be done days before deadlines. I see everything as a task with a process that can be expedited.
Today I re-confirmed against the statement. In personal and life issues, I am that procrastinator; that person who thinks thrice before taking action. That waiting did me no good.
People liked to ask others for advice on all kinds of things. Sometimes it helps us to see from a different perspective, but oftentimes the ultimate decision must come from within yourself. After all, who can and will be willing to take responsibility for an advice once shared and taken seriously, but resulted in a negative outcome?
Watch it slip through your fingers,
Watch it all come to an end.
Listen to the last note that lingers,
Listen to the voice that will speak no more.
We needn’t jump to make decisions, but don’t, don’t ever procrastinate…
Not good enough, not good enough, not good enough.
Wish I had paid attention.
Wish I had listened.
Wish I had remembered.
I struggled to comprehend the string of words that fell gracefully in place.
I absorbed the music that whispered into my ears; crescendo, espressivo, adagio…
I watched the moving pictures form a story as it flaunted its artistic beauty.
I heard it whisk by and linger within my mind.
I saw it slipping away into the abyss of hopelessness.
I recalled the days when I’d said …
I wish I had paid attention …
I wish I had listened …
I wished …