The awkward silence stills the shadows, as eyes watch the sun dance amongst the haze until it is hidden once more for it’s daily slumber. The heavens are painted pink with a hint of orange as the sun parades itself back to its corner of the atmosphere, nestled away from light probing eyes. The pampas wind stirs the tall grass on the squat and elevated knolls. It is there that they are seated, endlessly studying the vast skies around them, trying not to get noticed as they look at the other. Not a word does either of them speak, for it is too soon to tell if the time is right. Soon after, they are found gazing into each other’s eyes, searching for something more, looking further than the outer splendors and beyond the fabricated beauty. It is far too much for simple vocabulary to elucidate. It is a sagacity greater than most. Just a mere glance can eradicate all fears, all qualms, all misgivings.
Tell me a story, make me believe,
Show me something, I’m too naive.
Don’t let me go, I can’t do this alone,
Guide me; be with me, until I’m grown.
Make me wise, give me flair,
Make me know that you care.
Hold my hand take me with you,
Construct me as someone brand new.
After much tribulation, I can honestly say that a broken heart can ache and pain more severely than a broken bone. The diversion that you follow, that love is everlasting and forgiving, becomes a fictional statement on the tongues of the not-so-ill fated lovers. They are not familiar with the anguish suffered by the scourged at heart, and they most certainly do not feel the headache experienced by the misguided companion that has recently been forced to forgo a relationship. That word, relationship, becomes nothing more than an association, certainly nothing greater than a memory captured in torn photographs and in obscured visions of the mind. What once was thought of as being of utmost happiness is now dumbed down in order to make oneself feel that what was, never was. We try to convince ourselves that what we had was nothing more than a fabrication of feelings and never was genuine, and we do so with such animosity that we begin to believe these futile lies.
The glimmering light upon the end of my bed warms my night-frosted feet as the sun wakes every ounce of my weary body. The illuminated clock beside my head makes its presence known with its blaring voice. I swing my dead arm full of what seems to be pins and needles over to tap the snooze button for six mere minutes, just long enough to go back to my dream. I close my eyes trying with every tired bit of myself to fall back to sleep, just so I can see his face one more time in my overly exaggerated thoughts in slumber. Restlessly, I roll around realizing that the dream is over and I must awake and welcome the new day.
The diverging path ahead seems as if it goes on forever in the endless green, stating its independence. Swaying with the currents of the wind, almost as if it moves with the shadows of the towering foliage. Blindingly, I gaze at the sun above, pleading for only a few more hours of precious light to conduct me through the wood.
Light flutters by the evening gray, slowly creeping in between the slender slits of the untidy blinds. With door ajar, just as mind, I rest here weak to the world around me. Sirens blare as they race around the corners while their shadows dance across the street in an escapade of light and sound. The crisp cool feeling of my mid-summer’s night sheets try to persuade my mind into dosing off. Almost helplessly, I grip on to every last once of consciousness I have left in my feeble body. I lie here, exhaustedly examining the sound of cricket chirp and the rolling wheels of the not-so-far-off locomotive.