fog

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I thought I was the ONLY one who heard that subtle and beautiful music. That I was the only one pouring the blood of my heart out—when words called upon words…I felt the tiny tingling touch of a pathetic child trying to run for the words of the other, wanting to touch you with equal substance and humor. But as each day passed by, a new bud of uncertainty always showed itself. I felt your words and my words moved away from the protected circle and found a new master to admire.

A lot of visitors visit you in your prison. They listen to you, they talk to you just like me…they understand you more than I understand you no matter how hard I try to hear with my own heart and listen with my own soul. And you…understand them…you admire them…you can hear them…you smile with that vicious fascination towards their understanding of you…and conversations between you and them have grown bigger in size and number…and I look at you…hurt…with jealousy…here in my prison…because you stop talking to me…stop listening to me…you no longer see me…perhaps my words and the music they play…no longer get to you…no longer touching your fingers…and so they break in silence.

So, I learned…not to reach you…I learned to stop reaching for your eyes…I learned to go back to my own prison…in the middle…so no walls or bars could touch my back or my hair…or my perfume…or you. Because I felt…jealous…little…unknown…unnamed…no one. I’m nobody around you and your listening, visiting, magical friends.

 

So, before more of this pride gets in my way I got myself a question: what’s this crying and helpless child doing …running around…for your attention? Just what am I doing? Dragging myself to you like an old piece of soiled clothes…expecting you could wash it clean for me…

then, maybe I started to realize that this kind of thing…burns you out…so you tend to look elsewhere for rest.

You and me…me and you…when words call upon words…ignore the music, the weight, the beauty that I just want the you and me to take care of with a new face, a new smile, a new shade—but in the end the lights shut off, the ink dries up and emptiness flows to me like tears dragging the bubbly feelings of a careful touch to wintry clouds…Didn’t we agree with you and me…me and you? But I feel that painting the walls to create symbolic messages, a code, a bible for you and me to see, for me to know and understand you and me…it left me… feeling anxious…undeserving…so dishonesty slowly eroded the surfaced soil to reveal that sense of nothingness between those words… and that engulfing emptiness rushed to me again like a giant storm surge…and I just…felt lost around you…and…me.

Jealousy gave me lips to bite in spite and anger. Doubt covered my eyes a fog… And emptiness…well, made me feel that I lost you…and me to you.

 

Can you still find me? Would we still look for us? Well, the fog isn’t clearing up. Please forgive me… I don’t want to misunderstand.