He watches her walk out the door, feeling the emptiness close around him; envelope him. Turning towards the window, he watches as she leaves the building, her hair waving its own farewell in the cool breeze. He wishes he could have done more, knowing he could have done more makes it worse. His head lightly presses against the chilled glass and closes his eyes. He hears her car door slam and the engine turn. He feels the rumble of the car moving across the cobblestones in his bones, shaking him deep in his core. He opens his eyes as she rounds the corner, the corner where they first met. The corner where they would last see each other.
He slowly sinks down, settling in the chair next to the window, his eyes unable to lift from the floor. He stares at the dish she threw, shattered and broken, lying on the floor in a beautiful picture of chaos. This was one of his problems, he thinks to himself. He always saw beauty in everything else, but never told her how beautiful she was. He was the deep artistic type, he berates himself, always thinking how to turn his life into poetry in motion. He would get angry when his life didn't match his writing and would silently accuse her for being the cause.
Now what did that get him, he asks himself as he looks up, tears standing in his eyes. A sudden sight strikes him with the blow of a sledge hammer. He notices for the first time the beauty she created for him. The play of colors between the rooms she designed. The warmth of the bedroom, the inviting nature of the bed and candles surrounding it. She tried to make everything as how he wanted it, but he never saw it. He stands up and looks out the window, hoping. . .praying she would suddenly be out there so he could run down there and beg her to come back; forgive him. Outside the window the rain just began, falling on an empty street on this chilly night.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Writing: Moment in Time - A Day In Dublin
Stepping off the plane, he looks around for the first time since he left JFK Airport. He kept his eyes off the miles of water passing below him in hopes to keep his excitement lulled. His friend pushes him, forcing him to step out of the way of waiting passengers. He looks out the window, across the tarmac, and into the heart of Ireland. His friend joins him by the window, remarking about how close it looks to an American city. He doesn't listen after that statement. His friend cant see the differences out there; this is definitely not America. They walk down the airport, passing by signs for companies and products they don't know. His friend comments on how many Guinness signs they pass, eliciting a laugh from them that draws some stares. He knows they know he is an American, with all the gawking and confused looks that come with being one.
Stopping at a pub, he pays in US tender, drawing a smile from the server. She steps to the side and pours the drinks while he and his friend talk about what they are going to do for the next few months. The bartender himself brings over their cups, filled to the brim with dark stout. The bartender explains to them that things are different here than from the States and they will have to accept it and keep comments to themselves. They agree with the bartender and toast to his good health. With a smile he turns to his friend, after the bartender slips away, and tells him that this feels like second nature to him. A few rounds later, they leave the pub and catch a taxi to their hotel. They lug their belongings up to their home for eight weeks and walk out, not bothering to unpack.
Hitting the streets of Dublin, he looks around from the doorway of the hotel. To the left he see's a long busy road, covered in shops and restaurants. Down the road to the right, he spots a few pubs and an old building surrounded by a grand lawn. Choosing the right, he starts down the uncrowded street, his friend pointing things out as they walk. Jumping from pub to pub, they begin to sink in the differences between home and here. They chat up locals as if they had known them for years. He danced with an Irish woman, in Ireland, which brought a laugh from his friend. They crisscross the street, never feeling alone in a foreign land, until they reach the old building, which had to have been a castle back in the dark history of this country.
Most of the roof was gone, given way under the centuries of weather and torch. The top floor looked to be uninhabitable, but the lower floors, which they found out on the tour, were able to be salvaged before they turned it into a historic monument. He was mystified and touched, standing in the heart of Irish history, something he had only done online or through books. His friend was in equal amazement, but his mind, the mind of a mathematician, marveled at the way the angles of the arches were, and commented continuously about how this building should theoretically not be standing. Following the tour outside, they walked the great lawn, which had to be over 20 acres of well kept grass and trees. They wandered the lawn, reading plaques and taking pictures with decaying statues.
The night was closing in and the tour was over, despite the unanswered questions his friend had for their harried tour guide. They left the castle and made their way to a pub, which was aptly named, "The Irish Dragoon". Just as before, as soon as they entered, it was like they had been there before. Splitting up, with his friend going to the dart boards, he wandered to the bar in the midst of a sea of handshakes and pats on the back. Eyes rested on him as the bartender gave him a subtle cue on what he was to do to stay here in one piece. Raising his voice so the pub patrons, one and all, could hear him, he shouts, "This round's on me!". A deafening cheer and some hearty pats to his now sore back, he is now fully one of them.
Dancing and singing, darts and pool, drinking and storytelling, he had the best night of his life. His friend talked up a young Irish girl and was headed back to her place and would be back bright and early. He smiled and raised his drink, noticing the men around him doing the gesture as well. Leading a salute to a brother in arms, he and his new Irish family wish him luck and virility. Hours pass, and closing time finally arrives. He shakes the meaty hand of the bartender and hugs more than a large number of men and women before stepping into the brisk Dublin night. A glance to his watch shows two in the morning and he heads back to his hotel. Going back up to his room, he shuts the door and stumbles to his bed. Lying on his back, he turns and looks out the window, a smile on his face. Tonight was great, he thinks, but he was only getting started.
Stopping at a pub, he pays in US tender, drawing a smile from the server. She steps to the side and pours the drinks while he and his friend talk about what they are going to do for the next few months. The bartender himself brings over their cups, filled to the brim with dark stout. The bartender explains to them that things are different here than from the States and they will have to accept it and keep comments to themselves. They agree with the bartender and toast to his good health. With a smile he turns to his friend, after the bartender slips away, and tells him that this feels like second nature to him. A few rounds later, they leave the pub and catch a taxi to their hotel. They lug their belongings up to their home for eight weeks and walk out, not bothering to unpack.
Hitting the streets of Dublin, he looks around from the doorway of the hotel. To the left he see's a long busy road, covered in shops and restaurants. Down the road to the right, he spots a few pubs and an old building surrounded by a grand lawn. Choosing the right, he starts down the uncrowded street, his friend pointing things out as they walk. Jumping from pub to pub, they begin to sink in the differences between home and here. They chat up locals as if they had known them for years. He danced with an Irish woman, in Ireland, which brought a laugh from his friend. They crisscross the street, never feeling alone in a foreign land, until they reach the old building, which had to have been a castle back in the dark history of this country.
Most of the roof was gone, given way under the centuries of weather and torch. The top floor looked to be uninhabitable, but the lower floors, which they found out on the tour, were able to be salvaged before they turned it into a historic monument. He was mystified and touched, standing in the heart of Irish history, something he had only done online or through books. His friend was in equal amazement, but his mind, the mind of a mathematician, marveled at the way the angles of the arches were, and commented continuously about how this building should theoretically not be standing. Following the tour outside, they walked the great lawn, which had to be over 20 acres of well kept grass and trees. They wandered the lawn, reading plaques and taking pictures with decaying statues.
The night was closing in and the tour was over, despite the unanswered questions his friend had for their harried tour guide. They left the castle and made their way to a pub, which was aptly named, "The Irish Dragoon". Just as before, as soon as they entered, it was like they had been there before. Splitting up, with his friend going to the dart boards, he wandered to the bar in the midst of a sea of handshakes and pats on the back. Eyes rested on him as the bartender gave him a subtle cue on what he was to do to stay here in one piece. Raising his voice so the pub patrons, one and all, could hear him, he shouts, "This round's on me!". A deafening cheer and some hearty pats to his now sore back, he is now fully one of them.
Dancing and singing, darts and pool, drinking and storytelling, he had the best night of his life. His friend talked up a young Irish girl and was headed back to her place and would be back bright and early. He smiled and raised his drink, noticing the men around him doing the gesture as well. Leading a salute to a brother in arms, he and his new Irish family wish him luck and virility. Hours pass, and closing time finally arrives. He shakes the meaty hand of the bartender and hugs more than a large number of men and women before stepping into the brisk Dublin night. A glance to his watch shows two in the morning and he heads back to his hotel. Going back up to his room, he shuts the door and stumbles to his bed. Lying on his back, he turns and looks out the window, a smile on his face. Tonight was great, he thinks, but he was only getting started.
Writing: Moment in Time - Great Day
Stuck, just like every time before. I sip my screwdriver, tasting the sweet orange mix with the bitter vodka. I watch my girlfriend in the arms of another. It was my fault that I am here. I folded every time I resolutely turned away from her. I would tell her we are over, yet days later she is back with me. Watching them, I sigh bitterly as I raise the glass to my lips. Same shit, different day, I mutter under my breath. Greeted by a questioning look from the bartender as I spin to face the counter, a quick glance over my shoulder gives him the whole story. He pours me another drink and nods in understanding. I chuckle to myself, maybe I am not the only person alone in this packed club. I glance once more over my shoulder at my, as of this moment, ex-girlfriend straddling some nameless man at a far back table. I sip my drink and set it down next to a small leather bound book that wasn't there a moment ago. Looking up into the darkest eyes and shiest smile I had ever seen, I know I would be a fool if I did not talk to her right away.
Hours pass between us. She ignited a passion for speech that I never knew I possessed. She never slouched on her end, keeping me enthralled, begging for her next story like a starving man waiting for scraps of food. Never noticing nor caring when the girl I arrived with left, this woman had me hook, line, and sinker. We talked endlessly of love and life, books, music, and movies. We danced for hours and laughed the entire time. I drove her home, walking her to the door. A kiss and phone number was exchanged, followed by another soft kiss. On the short walk back to my car, I look to the just rising sun. It's going to be a great day.
Hours pass between us. She ignited a passion for speech that I never knew I possessed. She never slouched on her end, keeping me enthralled, begging for her next story like a starving man waiting for scraps of food. Never noticing nor caring when the girl I arrived with left, this woman had me hook, line, and sinker. We talked endlessly of love and life, books, music, and movies. We danced for hours and laughed the entire time. I drove her home, walking her to the door. A kiss and phone number was exchanged, followed by another soft kiss. On the short walk back to my car, I look to the just rising sun. It's going to be a great day.
Writing: Moment in Time - Precursor
He wasn't sure who kissed who first, but as his eyes closed, he no longer cared. Lost in the sweet smell of her perfume and the ecstatic feeling of her mouth on his, his mind reeled in pleasure. His hands sliding from her hips, up her sides, feeling the warmth of her body under his palms and fingertips. He was lost in her kiss; the force of her passion mixing with his. With a slight movement, his body pressed against hers. His efforts, which were not in vain, brought a moan from her lips as she melted against him. He felt her hands slide through his short hair, gripping, pulling hard.
His alarm goes off on his phone, eliciting a silent curse at his class schedule. Reluctantly he pulls away from her only to be dragged back to her waiting lips; all thought of the alarm forgotten. His eyes close and his hands slide down and into her back pockets, pulling her to him, pelvis to pelvis. His alarm shrieks out another warning, making him wish he could just throw it against a wall. . .with her against it not soon after. He breaks the kiss and says his goodbye. He watches her turn to go to her class, her hair waving goodbye as she turns and jogs, for she is late as well. He has trouble making his body move towards the door, his eyes locked on her. Before she rounds a corner, she glances back with a message in her eyes. His heart skips a beat as her message was read loud and clear. Tonight, they would continue where they left off. Tonight, he smiles and turns to the door. Tonight.
His alarm goes off on his phone, eliciting a silent curse at his class schedule. Reluctantly he pulls away from her only to be dragged back to her waiting lips; all thought of the alarm forgotten. His eyes close and his hands slide down and into her back pockets, pulling her to him, pelvis to pelvis. His alarm shrieks out another warning, making him wish he could just throw it against a wall. . .with her against it not soon after. He breaks the kiss and says his goodbye. He watches her turn to go to her class, her hair waving goodbye as she turns and jogs, for she is late as well. He has trouble making his body move towards the door, his eyes locked on her. Before she rounds a corner, she glances back with a message in her eyes. His heart skips a beat as her message was read loud and clear. Tonight, they would continue where they left off. Tonight, he smiles and turns to the door. Tonight.
Writing: Moment in Time - Worthy
She sits across from me, eyes flickering across the pages of her book. Toes tapping on the glossy, tiled floor, she reads to the music in her head. I sit on the couch, glancing up from my own novel, watching her read while bathed in the fading sunlight. She flicks another page and continues to read with iron clad resolution, never noticing the smile playing across my face.
I stop watching her, returning to my own reading though the smile continues to light up my face. She glances up from her tale to give me a questioning look. I glance up and return the look to her, enjoying the back and forth. A slight shrug and a flicker of annoyance mar her beauty for only a brief moment. I lower my eyes to the book, but not to read.
Thinking of what to do, I reach inside my pocket for the ring I bought her yesterday. I steal a glance at her, hoping she doesn't suspect. Deeply engrossed in her book, she would not see it coming. Her hair, cascading down her face, shields her eyes from me. I hesitate to move, afraid of what her response might be. Do I risk what we have for what we might or do I remain content with what we already have accomplished?
A deep breath and a push away from the couch answers my question. Foolish or not, the is no waiting any longer. I walk towards her, my hand dipping into my pocket for her ring. . .
I stop watching her, returning to my own reading though the smile continues to light up my face. She glances up from her tale to give me a questioning look. I glance up and return the look to her, enjoying the back and forth. A slight shrug and a flicker of annoyance mar her beauty for only a brief moment. I lower my eyes to the book, but not to read.
Thinking of what to do, I reach inside my pocket for the ring I bought her yesterday. I steal a glance at her, hoping she doesn't suspect. Deeply engrossed in her book, she would not see it coming. Her hair, cascading down her face, shields her eyes from me. I hesitate to move, afraid of what her response might be. Do I risk what we have for what we might or do I remain content with what we already have accomplished?
A deep breath and a push away from the couch answers my question. Foolish or not, the is no waiting any longer. I walk towards her, my hand dipping into my pocket for her ring. . .
Writing: Moment in Time - Musical Therapy
A song plays in the background, feeding my mood exactly what it doesn't need. I lean back, listening to the lyrics, but not hearing the song. "You tell me you love me, I ain't so sure. Love is something earned and not just spoken. How can I trust again, when I'm knocked to the floor. You cant always fix whatever has been broken." eases through my speakers and replays in my mind.
"Truer words have never been spoken," I say to the song, but like always, it never answers. I sip from my Sierra Mist and chat idly with a friend in Georgia. I am not sure if my answers have any relevance to what he is saying, but it feels good to just freely type.
The song changes to Breakup Song by Cowboy Mouth. "How appropriate," I murmur to myself. It seems to be a contagious disease affecting everyone lately. I listen to the beat, but the lyrics are lost to me. The beat is uptempo, electric. It moves through me, shocking my system like Cowboy Mouth always seems to do.
"Why you wanna do me like you do?" says the next song. I can look at many relationships and I wonder why these words have not been spoken. I lean back and think of the people I met since I moved up here, specifically her. It seems she has a thing for me, but I don't act on it.
"Why shouldn't I?" I ask myself. Sometimes it feels like everyone's against you, sometimes it feels like the world doesn't care. What you gotta do is you gotta get up, you gotta find your heart, you gotta find your soul, you gotta find those strengths inside yourself that make you take on the day, take on the world, that make you feel alive, the song answers. "That doesn't help me." I answer back. I know why I don't act on it. It's no secret to myself. I don't act on it because it's not her I want to be with. She is an awesome person, but she definitely deserves someone that can give her his entire heart and soul.
My mp3 list shifts again, Lips of an Angel plays. I enjoy this song. It makes me remember someone I don't want to remember, but the song makes sure I don't forget so easily. She hurt me deeply, but I think I am finally over it. I can think of her and not think of only the time I came home to an empty apartment.
I'm standing here until you make me move, says Lifehouse. I enjoy this song too. It reminds me of how I chase things that will more than likely hurt me in the end. No. That's not true. Fate has a way of twisting things and things might work. Things might not. I guess that's up to what God has in store for me.
There is no you, there is only me, screams out of my speakers. Appropriate timing I would say. I have lost my faith somewhere along the line. My beliefs and faith have been stripped away layer after layer. Do I believe in God anymore? I truly do not know the answer to that. I grew up a troubled child, prone to aggression and one day changed virtually over night. Only things did not get better for me. Things got worse and have changed me. I did not have a happy childhood I hear my other friends had. I did not have a happy adolescence my friends had. I did not have a happy young adulthood that I hear people have. My life has hurt and has kept me closed.
I turn off my mp3 player after I listen to The Atari's The Saddest Song. I finish off my Sierra Mist and close the doors that I opened up to share this post with you all. I lock them tight and turn off the lights.
"Another time, perhaps," I say to myself. "Of course, another time never comes" a smile wrly. I turn and walk down the corridor passing one locked and barred door after another. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Your mom and dad left you with me for the day. I don't care if you want to go on rides. You're pathetic, you know that? Stop crying. What are you, a baby? Stop crying or I will hit you again. You know your parents didn't even want to keep you? If your mom didn't have a miscarriage, they wouldn't be burdened with you. Here comes your sister, if you don't stop crying, I will REALLY give you something to cry about. How did her door open? I close it tight, remembering her hatred of me. My aunt. The sister of my mother. Family is supposed to love you, I guess she never got the memo. Her words carry with me to this day. I was 6 years old and at a fair with my cousin, sister and aunt. I got the pleasure of watching them ride rides while my aunt destroyed my selfworth. I close the vault and lock it.
"Another time..."
"Truer words have never been spoken," I say to the song, but like always, it never answers. I sip from my Sierra Mist and chat idly with a friend in Georgia. I am not sure if my answers have any relevance to what he is saying, but it feels good to just freely type.
The song changes to Breakup Song by Cowboy Mouth. "How appropriate," I murmur to myself. It seems to be a contagious disease affecting everyone lately. I listen to the beat, but the lyrics are lost to me. The beat is uptempo, electric. It moves through me, shocking my system like Cowboy Mouth always seems to do.
"Why you wanna do me like you do?" says the next song. I can look at many relationships and I wonder why these words have not been spoken. I lean back and think of the people I met since I moved up here, specifically her. It seems she has a thing for me, but I don't act on it.
"Why shouldn't I?" I ask myself. Sometimes it feels like everyone's against you, sometimes it feels like the world doesn't care. What you gotta do is you gotta get up, you gotta find your heart, you gotta find your soul, you gotta find those strengths inside yourself that make you take on the day, take on the world, that make you feel alive, the song answers. "That doesn't help me." I answer back. I know why I don't act on it. It's no secret to myself. I don't act on it because it's not her I want to be with. She is an awesome person, but she definitely deserves someone that can give her his entire heart and soul.
My mp3 list shifts again, Lips of an Angel plays. I enjoy this song. It makes me remember someone I don't want to remember, but the song makes sure I don't forget so easily. She hurt me deeply, but I think I am finally over it. I can think of her and not think of only the time I came home to an empty apartment.
I'm standing here until you make me move, says Lifehouse. I enjoy this song too. It reminds me of how I chase things that will more than likely hurt me in the end. No. That's not true. Fate has a way of twisting things and things might work. Things might not. I guess that's up to what God has in store for me.
There is no you, there is only me, screams out of my speakers. Appropriate timing I would say. I have lost my faith somewhere along the line. My beliefs and faith have been stripped away layer after layer. Do I believe in God anymore? I truly do not know the answer to that. I grew up a troubled child, prone to aggression and one day changed virtually over night. Only things did not get better for me. Things got worse and have changed me. I did not have a happy childhood I hear my other friends had. I did not have a happy adolescence my friends had. I did not have a happy young adulthood that I hear people have. My life has hurt and has kept me closed.
I turn off my mp3 player after I listen to The Atari's The Saddest Song. I finish off my Sierra Mist and close the doors that I opened up to share this post with you all. I lock them tight and turn off the lights.
"Another time, perhaps," I say to myself. "Of course, another time never comes" a smile wrly. I turn and walk down the corridor passing one locked and barred door after another. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Your mom and dad left you with me for the day. I don't care if you want to go on rides. You're pathetic, you know that? Stop crying. What are you, a baby? Stop crying or I will hit you again. You know your parents didn't even want to keep you? If your mom didn't have a miscarriage, they wouldn't be burdened with you. Here comes your sister, if you don't stop crying, I will REALLY give you something to cry about. How did her door open? I close it tight, remembering her hatred of me. My aunt. The sister of my mother. Family is supposed to love you, I guess she never got the memo. Her words carry with me to this day. I was 6 years old and at a fair with my cousin, sister and aunt. I got the pleasure of watching them ride rides while my aunt destroyed my selfworth. I close the vault and lock it.
"Another time..."
Writing: Moment in Time - Sleeping Beauty
Her eyes close as she rests her head upon my shoulder. Stray hairs cascade down her serene face as she slowly drifts into slumber. My fingers itch, burn, with the desire to gently push back those rogue strands. Her breathing becomes shallow as she slides further asleep, my arm gently wrapped around her; caressing. I tilt my head to the side, resting against her soft hair. Closing my eyes, I drink in the moment.
Her body shifts under my arm as her head slips lower and settles on my lap. My fingers continue to lightly dance along her back. My eyes slowly open as I look down at the quintessential Sleeping Beauty laying below me. I smile and turn my head to look to the sky. Her hand rests lightly on my leg as she sleeps, while mine continues to moving soothingly. I watch the stars glitter in the sky while a closer one rests here with me.
Her head raises as she temporarily waves sleep from her mind. A glance at me and her head falls again to my chest. I lightly kiss her sweet smelling hair as her eyes close once more. Resting head to head, I close my eyes. Lost in a moment that wont last, feeling things that are difficult to voice, I sigh lightly. Stop thinking, I tell myself. Just enjoy the moment.
Her body shifts under my arm as her head slips lower and settles on my lap. My fingers continue to lightly dance along her back. My eyes slowly open as I look down at the quintessential Sleeping Beauty laying below me. I smile and turn my head to look to the sky. Her hand rests lightly on my leg as she sleeps, while mine continues to moving soothingly. I watch the stars glitter in the sky while a closer one rests here with me.
Her head raises as she temporarily waves sleep from her mind. A glance at me and her head falls again to my chest. I lightly kiss her sweet smelling hair as her eyes close once more. Resting head to head, I close my eyes. Lost in a moment that wont last, feeling things that are difficult to voice, I sigh lightly. Stop thinking, I tell myself. Just enjoy the moment.
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