The night was terrifying and silent. The void let the other emotions burst freely on the surface. It was the first time in months that a raindrop touched the earth without any hesitation. It fell abruptly from the eye and the second one followed. I was feeling the humidity in the air days now, but the heart of stone did not believe in giving in. The mind of the sinner refused to drown and fought hard to unravel the tangled thoughts. The meteorologists and my heart had predicted a thunderstorm. After the first raindrops, the others followed easily. It was hard to sham the pain as every thunder hit the bones of the thorax. The filmstrip seemed infinite. Myself and the tawny woman, both rubbed our forehead and covered our eyes. I could feel the skin under my nails hurting but the rain had to be stopped. I had created an ocean in which my sadness could reflect itself as if it had taken a human form; fine beauty, long curly hair, sparkling eyes. I wondered what is the source of that sparkle; radiating happiness, disturbing melancholy or painful regret?
At least I know how I want to die. The peaceful sky will be having the color of midnight blue; a star here and there; not too many; enough to shine wonderfully around the moon. The waves will be hitting the shore quite hardly but in the deep; the sable line will be clear and still. The roundness of the moon will be perfect; its’ hues will have a scarlet color; bloody but still dusty grey. Across the beach no soul will be whipping beside me. The horizon will seem endless and I will be greeting it. Opposite to the endless sea, at the exit from the beach, a wooden bar will be still lightened. No soul will ponder on the porch. The unclean dishes on top of the sink will torture my soul. I will not leave unfinished business behind. The tick-tocking of the clock may feel exasperating but not so much as I will know it will be the last I am going to hear it. There is a half empty glass of whiskey on the corner of a table. I observed that night and only, the brunette woman sitting there. She would leave the same half empty glass every night, I would take it and toss it. That night I will not. I will ran my fingers over the shapes of that glass, sink one inside, rub it on my lips and flash it inside me. It will burn but I am sure I will not mind. The void will be filled with a song from the radio. Elliott Smith will be playing his favourite song, something about us between the bars. I will take that emptied glass and walk on the shore holding it. At some point, I will fill it with the ocean’s water and when I am ready, I will drink up my unfulfilled dreams. Their poisonous effect will be the end of me; there, on that beach, shaded by the midnight blue sky. The clock on the wall of the bar will stop tick-tocking. Time of death: 02:30 a.m. .
I woke up in the afterlife and all I did ever since was wonder; what if I had no unfulfilled dreams? Would that water still poison me? That was my hell. I was tortured by that idea, of never finding out; what if I had done all that I wanted? No remorse, no going back.
If I knew, if only I had some knowledge of his unspoken thoughts… But perhaps I don’t want to know. That seems to be the naked truth. My sooth was cleared of clothing or decorations. I do have a foolish interpretation of his silence in my mind which haunts me like a black widowed crow. Have I mentioned that I have a special adoration for crows?
I assume you will find my declaration irritatingly nonsensical. Can I be excused for loving the soothing that strangulates my lungs? Certain things cannot be excused so perhaps I am not forgiven. I have betrayed my universe and its’ sweet, agonising revenge is more than accepted. It took away my oxygen and tragically I do not mind. I can live without it.
That certain touch of tenderness that filled my dreams is gone. The exasperation of waiting to see him is gone too. Everything has drifted away. Do you find me depressing? Because I already do find me so.
I should let you know that I am not. There is a new kind of happiness running through my veins. I have made piece with my own desperation. I have made piece with myself and that is how everything flows willingly into another direction. I opened my eyes and the darkness was gone. I could see the stars telling me everything is going to be just fine.
All I had to do is admit to myself the harsh truth; that everything was over and I had to move on. –
How many words are born to impress? Not many. This one is. Fatalism.
Its’ eight letters embrace the deepest theories and feelings. I wonder whether the future agrees with me or not. But if, if we were allowed to believe that it was destined to be together, then let it be. I wish no insult to your thoughts but perhaps this is an accurate explanation to whatever tickles my insides. I do not know yet if there is an existing term for the sensation you give me.
The summer rain scares me. It’s hiding the sun, messing around with the moon. The heavens are desperately screaming. I feel my heart collapsing into a vacuum. The raindrops stretched on my skin daringly but I insisted on moving my hand back to safety. I wouldn’t let the rain touch me. I feared for a second it will take this inexplicable dulcet feeling away. The thought of it only electrified me.
The night falls into pieces of darkness, abstract lines of lightning and terrifying sounds of summer’s revengefulness. The earth implores the skies. I hear it praying for more. I wonder what ‘more’ means; even my heart wonders how ‘more’ would be.
Sometimes skipping the tormenting theories calls off the fear. At least in my case, it is gone. I smiled unwillingly while my mind faded in your aura.
Your head was resting beside me, your hand wrapped around my hips. I could not close my eyes. I felt I had to stay awake, watch over you. I was running my hand through your hair, on your cheek, close to your lips. Your lips curved into a smile when I touched your lower one but I feared I will intervene with your dream so I moved it back through your hair.
I felt my eyes closing but I would not dare sleep. The music, that specific song which I had on repeat while hoping your subconscious serves you a good dream, got me thinking about us. I had many questions vandalising my mind. The atmosphere was silent. The first hays of the sun hit the window and an unusual lightness fogged my question marks. I felt non existent but still attached to your skin. I smiled without knowing the exact reason. Or at least, without thinking of it. However, it was obvious.
Perhaps for a moment I had it all. Summer. Lightness. A song. White sheets. You.
That morning, I needed nothing more. So the earth needs nothing more. Tonight it is fed with water. In the morning I dare saying the sun will rise, his hays will burn sweetly.