I hear the sound of the highway outside my window during all hours of the day. at night, during the lonely hours, when black has overtaken the entire sky, the sounds of the cars remind me that not everyone is sleeping. I use it as a lullaby. sometimes, the sound of being awake is the only thing putting me to sleep. and it was on a night like this, when all I could hear was life outside my window and the loneliness in my room, that I thought back to how it all began. every word from our lips. every slight movement from our bodies. and how it all added up to this one moment where I’m still alone in a bedroom of black and white. part of me feels nothing. my heart barely remembers how to race and my skin doesn’t recall how to react to your touch. and yet…part of me feels everything. shivers, shudders, and laughs in the dark. in the pitch black of night, our faces only inches from each other, I could feel your smile and kiss at the same time. but even then, I should have known. we fell asleep with our backs to the other. and outside your bedroom window, I heard the train. and wondered where the cars were.
one day, he’ll notice that all those stories you’ve told him, and all the jokes you’ve told him, and all those smiles you gave him were meant for someone else. anyone else. and that you don’t even remember telling them. more than once. because you thought you were telling those stories and jokes and giving those smiles to someone else. you thought you were reliving memories with the one you originally lived those memories with. but you weren’t. you were just repeating yourself. over and over and over again. with someone who stopped listening to you when they realized you had stopped living altogether.
these are the kinds of things we should worry about.
I think we could go a little bit faster, darling. as I stare out a frosty window into the darkened streets. only the corner lit by a streetlamp with a white glow. a mug in my hand. I take a sip quietly, because if I make too much noise then I’m reminded of how quiet silence truly is.
I hope I never stop liking the music I love at this age. The way it touches my soul sometimes just amazes me…I literally feel something tugging at my heartstrings from inside. Or I raise my own voice to sing because I just can’t help it. Or I do a little dance because I feel inspired to. Music…
yes. [even though we have different music tastes, I completely agree. with my entire heart and soul.]
"since when did it matter." I imagine you grabbing my hand, my wrist and spinning me around back towards you. as if you can’t bear to see me go but angry that you’re trapped this way. it is Fall, and the leaves are as auburn as the sun is red. and we’re glowing in the sunlight, even though I feel as if we’re bathed in darkness.