Drifting

"I've always been in love with you, I guess you've always known, I took your love for granted why oh why the show is over say goodbye.....take a bow"

She woke up with a start, realising that for the 3rd month consecutively she went to sleep without speaking to him. The man she was supposed to love with all her heart.
There was something about statistics that made sense of those clouds in the brain, those "I can't remembers" or sketch timeframes. If she was totally honest with herself she hadn't spoken to him in about a year.

When she let her mind think about this a terrible guilt overwhelmed her. She knew this from the past, before she got close to him, before she knew better.

That was part of the problem, the illogical beauty of rebellion. She knew what it felt like to be around him, to interact with him, to recognise him and get excited at the thought of all the plans he had, he was ambitious, much more than she ever could be...

...When she let herself think about it, she loved the theory, the control he had, the seamless ease at which life played out. Yet the honest truth was lack of control was a hinderance to her. She worked within her own control, which ultimately placed boundaries, to let people in......and let her out.

These rules that formed through control had become small at first, like tidy little picket hedges creating a logical sense for rhyme and reason. They soon grew to be important to her, both in meaning and concequently in height, soon she couldn't jump over them anymore, they had become too high.
So she remained trapped, unable to even see him.

Sometimes if the wind blew the right way she thought she heard his voice, calling to her. Sometimes people had passed on messages, telling her he was asking about her.
Inside her, somewhere underneath doubt and guilt she knew, if she called him, if she actually took the time out to ask, he would knock down these walls and would rescue her.

Before she ever got around to asking him, she had fallen asleep again, telling herself she would definately think about getting over this wall tomorrow. Another day had passed, and so he remained, on the other side of the wall, longing to see her, to ask her how she was getting on, to tell her that he loves her.

Would this night be the night, alone in the dark......

The Flame.

“You should have picked up the first time” and there it was. That voice. His voice, instantly recognisable, smooth and completely compelling. She hadn't expected it to be him, and for a brief second, she was caught unaware, paralysed a million memories of before shooting to the forefront.

And then she remembered herself, and their game. A wry smile made its way to the corner of her mouth as she asked him politely and professionally to call back later......she wasn't alone. This conversation would require all of her attention and she couldn't afford to be overheard

It had started earlier that week. After perusing her inbox for the daily dose of spam vs. junk she paused over one particular London based sale email. Her mind went to him, in his little London bubble, and without thinking she was hitting the forward button, she drafted the usual 'saw this and thought of you' excuse and duly hit the send button having passed through her thoughts and thinking no more of him.

Not long later she had a reply, from him. She half expected a response, he was too professional not to acknowledge the receipt, her eyes skimmed the reply and then stopped short. The last sentence almost stood straight off the screen.

“In hindsight I am seriously wondering whether I was in love with you in my own odd way."

She snapped herself back, convinced her imagination had concocted such an unexpected outburst.

Her last efforts to engage him in a rendezvous had resulted in a spectacular shortfall and although disappointed she accepted it. She read it again. There is something quite startling about the aesthetics of black text on white. To read something in black and white, the starkness of facts moulded into words using the harshness of black and embedded, pressed into sheets of virgin white.

It was there it happened, all those memories flooding her mind like photographs spinning to such a pace that it caused a tiny ignition inside. And she knew it.

Immediately she was forming her response, politely skirting the issue yet desperate to mention it.

Common sense was starting to prevail, and by the time she pressed send, she realised he was still a memory, a nice reminder today of what could have been back then.

Yet the fire was not diminishing.

She emailed him back from work, beginning to remember more as their contact grew more frequent, like re-connecting, re-familiarising herself with him all over again.

And then he rang her, and the sound of his voice connected more parts to the puzzle.

This morning she awoke with him on her mind, she could almost reach out and touch him, she could feel him touching her. She could feel his desire almost tangibly on her skin. Later that morning, she questioned herself, slightly disappointed that she could be so easily pulled back, yet at the same time ecstatic that she was being pulled back. Was it backwards? Or were they just headed for those places they had been too afraid to admit before?

That night he called her, they talked again, he admitted things, she did the same. Both of them had their own insecurities and frustrations from the other. The future is unwritten. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, she felt his hand on her thigh.

Tears in the rain.

Nobody notices tears in the rain.

She sat alone in the hotel room, it was one of the better hotels yet the lights seemed gloomy. The light cast down over her seeping into her mind, her thoughts.

She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror- strangely familiar yet startlingly unexpected. She studied critically- tear washed cheeks smudged red by constant wiping away- she sniffed for the hundredth time. They say the eyes are the window to the soul; her soul must be drowning- the glassy eyes stared back.

Anger fleetingly passed through her mind startling like a lightning bolt, she hated low emotions.

She took a shower hoping the effect of more water to her saturated soul might revive a renaissance of life.

Her mood that night was reflected in the weather- it was dark and the rain was falling- not heavy, more of a spray fine mist falling like a muslin blanket over the streets of London.

She looked up to the stars, a pinprick of light but the rain misted her vision her tears became camouflaged- invisible.

The warmth of the restaurant windows seemed misplaced yet luring- she was escorted to a seat in the window whilst the waiter lit her candle, she gazed into the orange flame……..

Lovesick.

She stares blankly at the screen, the PC is full of data but like the Matrix she fails to see what is there, her eyes focus between the lines, she has perfected the art of reading without processing.

Her mind has been in rewind most of the day, like a bad trip she remembers the soft lighting, his voice, the concern in his voice, the pain in her heart, the terrible pain that inevitably leads to tears.

Those tears, soft and subtle yet hard and obvious.....her give away.

She closed her eyes trying to erase the situation, she tried to cast her mind back to those walks, the all-night conversations, the sly kisses, the closeness, the way he engaged her mind, exciting her deeply......

She had fallen for him, she had resigned herself to this fact a while ago, yet the realisation of the fact had left her feeling vulnerable. In her weakness he seemed strong, distant almost, he had told her he wanted to help her yet she didn't even know how she could help herself. She had told him she felt empty, empty and a terrible sense of failure had overwhelmed her beneath the sea of tears.....she was drowning, she lay down and slept.

With the morning comes the light, this signals a temporary death and dispersal to the darkness and the associated entities that live in the dark depths, plaguing the imagination.

Her day had started with remorse, it had discovered a shaded area of her mind, free from the light and whispered to her mind, gradually as she had grown stronger she was able to light up her mind with good thoughts and ideas. Remorse had died for the time being.

Where was she now.....not on fire as she had been, but she was shining. She thought of him, she told herself the truths he had told her and was contented.

Her heart still ached for him.

The End.

She could feel the tears pricking in her eyes.
She knew this was going to happen.
‘’Can I have a word’’ he’d said. A word. The expectation itself meant more than just a quick hello.
He was sincere. She had listened. Neither of them could give each other eye contact, a complete juxtaposition to the last time they had been in each others company.

She looked at him; he’d had his hair cut. He knew she liked the way his hair curled at the nape of his neck- yet they had all been cut off- as if defiant towards her. He was wearing the jacket she advised him to buy, he looked good. Again she felt a pang of a memory both made and unmade, what was and what could have been. The tears pricked again.

She tried to remain upbeat, she told him she liked the way his hair fell at the front; he rejected the compliment. She told him she liked the way he looked in his jacket. He didn’t respond. She told him that at least he’d look good whatever else happened. He didn’t say anything.

He looked vulnerable and yet he was in control, he knew what he had to say and it had to be said there and then.

She admired that, at least he kept it quick and to the point, like removing a plaster.

He told her he had to let go, let go of her and what was and what could have been. He told her it was going to be hard, his feelings were still the same but there was nothing he could do to convince her.

She nodded silently; she looked over her shoulder, allowing herself a brief moment to wipe away the tears that were threatening to fall- her giveaway.

She looked back, she nodded again- she told him that was the right thing to do. Despite hearing herself, she noted how detached and objective those words were. It was one of those times when logic and rational prevail- emotion has no place here. This was the pain, the pain of those words cutting away at the romantic notions of a life and love that could have been.

He had to leave; he said he had things to do, work that could not wait. She stepped forward and embraced him, she felt the memories of that familiar embrace drain, like revisiting a familiar dwelling many years later- the immediacy of the feelings they had known were no more. They had reached that fork in the road and they were on a different course.

Goodbye.

Night Dreams

She preferred to think of herself as a night owl, one of those nocturnal creatures that came alive at night when the moon ruled the skies and the stars danced and shone over the expanse of the skies.

Most nights the stars embraced her company, lighting up her thoughts and inspiring her mind to wander and dream, and listening to her plans whilst the moon looked down approvingly. But then there were some nights when the clouds came between her and the stars the darkness took hold of her, slowly winding its way around her and absorbing her mind with abstract confusion that sent her deeper into the darkness unable to see the light.

There hadn't been many of these nights lately which she was glad about. She was absorbing her thoughts with him, every aspect of him.

She hadn’t been sure at first, whether she could risk that which she had spent so long protecting, solitary un-taming can be a wonderful thing, running through the fields of your own ideas and pushing to climb to new heights. She had learned to embrace the freedom with a joyful spirit.....but when the clouds came even she could not escape the despairing depths of loneliness.

It was in that time, that time of her weakness that she had dared to risk, it was in that time that he had decided to sit next to her.