He heard the song on radio, repeating lines he no longer knew if they were true.
He hadn’t realised how much his life had changed since he had met her.
It had only been three months since their last meeting, but each day that went by without her presence felt worse.
He didn’t want to change her life; he couldn’t, anyway.
The knowledge pained him – wanting so badly to, yet knowing he shouldn’t, couldn’t, and wouldn’t.
It wasn’t as if she would agree to it; she had too much to lose.
It wasn’t as if she would, anyway; because she would never know.
No, he didn’t want to change her life, but he missed every moment he once had with her.
He didn’t deserve her time. He wasn’t entitled to see her smile. He had no right to hold her. Because someone else did.
“And I don’t want to change your life…” the song played on.
Didn’t he? How imprudent of him to have gotten into this state. Pathetic, to say the least.
He knew he couldn’t change her life; he could only walk away and slip away into the darkness…
it’s been awhile since words were scribbled.
it’s been awhile since the mind worked.
it’s been awhile since the heart could express itself.
but such is life. when things die away, it takes time to get over it.
and sometimes, even time cannot heal.
The concept of worthlessness was thoroughly explored, examined, and assessed. It was great. It was immense. It was poignant. It was everything that made a person feel terrible. It was what made a person die inside. It was something that could kill. It was tedious. It was horrendous. It was ….
It was simply too tiring to complete this post.
She knew better this time.
Even as she felt the knots scrunching up in her tummy, and the creepy-crawly sensations that slid around within her chest, she merely let out a soft sigh.
Her fingers itched to call him, but it was less than two months since they last spoke.
No matter how much it took for her to suppress the urge, she was certain it would get easier. Watching the clock tick made it better, she persuaded herself. As long as day turned to night, she was certain she could let the feelings pass too. Perhaps it would be better not to make any rash moves, she reminded herself. She did not need another rejected call to ascertain that he cared less for her that he claimed he did. It wasn’t the first time she had to endure such emotions, and it surely wasn’t the last.
But she would learn, she reassured herself.
It had taken years, but she was positive that she could learn not to think of him.
You see, most of life is a blur at first. Then comes the obstacles – rocky, challenging, numerous. But as we keep going, they seem to get a little more manageable. They didn’t lessen; they merely become less important. Even the barriers put in place cannot stop us from flowing through.
At the end? At the end we finish off as ashes in the sea, mixed within the rocks that line the shore.
Writing about it did him more harm than good. It didn’t make him any more certain about the situation. It didn’t help him forget her. But strangely enough, it didn’t help him to feel better about them either.
He tried to describe as vividly as he could, the day he had met her. He wrote fervently about the light that lit her silhouette, her eyes that glittered with the sheer hint of light that night. Then he typed fastidiously in an attempt to document every word and touch they had exchanged over time.
As he tried to weave their tale into a coherent story, he realised that there was hardly a story. No, there wasnt. There were countless expressions of affection from him to her. There were endless nights that he longed for her that it hurt his body and soul. There were infinite moments of closeness that he once held on dearly to. But to say they had an experience to retell or a relationship to cherish made almost a mockery to the true definitions of the words.
Perhaps putting these down in tangible words could help, he thought.
He kept up with writing, scribbling, typing, and back to thinking again. But slowly, as more days passed, less made sense. Feelings began to fade, and his resolute was evidently shaken. He could hold on the the last threads of memories, but the emotions were drained.
Did you still like her? They asked. This time, he wasn’t sure anymore.
He wasn’t upset.
He wasn’t tired or stressed.
He definitely wasn’t angry.
He was just being himself.
“Serious as hell,” someone whispered, in sync with the rustling of paperwork that piled on his desk.
“Moody bugger,” another said, as he frowned at the 600 e-mails he had to clear.
“Authoritarian!” a murmur was heard just as he backed his chair away and hurried to the next meeting room.
No, he wasn’t upset – not technically. He wasn’t tired or stressed – not really. And he definitely wasn’t angry.
He just want to get the work done and move on with life, preferably without the fools that lingered in his presence, trying with their limited capacity to speculate his emotions.
Need a new lighthouse keeper? Here’s a tiny light…
And hey, never too small to do the job! Maybe not the most qualified. But who is to say otherwise? What’s wrong with giving it a try?
We may look back to see what we’ve missed, but we don’t always get the chance to see what we’ve left behind.
“We’re leaving a mark on your platform wherever we go; because that’s exactly what you did to our ocean.”
I imagine that’s what nature would say to us as Man leaves footprints in all forms – sometimes tentative, other times so permanent that damage is caused – across the world.