Once more, she was looking out the window. This time she was looking the airplanes getting ready to land. He was talking on the other end of theline, miles and miles away. She was mad at him for something unreasonably stupid, but she could't help herself. She was a possesive woman. An over-possesive one to be honest, and she wanted what was hers, to stay hers. Or something that was about her, to only BE about her.
When she told him though, she instantly realised that it wasn't about her. The song that she thought was for her, was in fact just a song for him and nothing more. Even though she called him on that, she told him that he made a mistake but he replied with a simple, yet powerful at the moment, no. Hours later though, her hopes came crushing down once more, in a matter of minutes. Two things that were supposed to be about her, were prsented to the 'other'. At that moment, all the dreams he made her create, with all those things he told her, had simple vanished. No traces left.
He kindly asked her, if she wanted to know about his life, explaining he wanted to talk about 'the other'. What he didn't know was that she always knew what he meant, apart from the times he was talking abour her. The emotions were clouding her vision and understanding, but she never had the courage to ask for explanations. She hoped that he would understand and willingly explain, but he never seemed to get it.
She bit her lip and with a sigh, asked to know what had happened. As he started talking, she started pacing up and down the empty living room. She was thinking of the afternoon, when she went shopping and was looking outside the furniture stores. She was looking at the sofas and was dreaming about the two of them, sitting on that black sofa, watching a movie during Christmas Holidays, in an empty apartment and feeling complete. But the picture she painted in her mind, was flawed. It had one difference from the one he painted days ago. A difference you couldn't actually see, but was louder than anything else.
While listening to him, talking about 'the other', she again realised that she had left her imagination run wild without realising that she was alone in those hopes. That one word. That one choise. His. That word was mocking her. Friendship. Friends. That's what he wanted and every instinct to the contrary had simply been a denial of the following truth. He had gotten over everything they had, everything they were. He would never want anything more or see her any other way. Friends. A word that had scratched the thin layer of the hole in her chest and made it bleed red again. The hole was never really closed. Just wrongfully patched. She sat on the floor, brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her left arm around the knees while still holding the phone with her right hand. She tightened the hold just to keep herself together and listened to what he was telling her. She didn't make any sounds. Just breathing. And listening.
But the thing is, that he was the one confusing her. She didn't want to go back to him. To the one that lied to her. She knew she couldn't trust him anymore and she had accepted the finality of their story. But with every touch, every stolen kiss, every tight hug, he awakened things that were long asleep and would, otherwise, never have emerged. But at some point, the end had to come Like it did to their stolen time together. Even though he didn't say it out loud, she knew where he stood. His choice. 'The other'. She wouldn't fight for him anymore. She did it for four years and it led nowhere. She didn't want to fight. She knew what she deserved and she wouldn't ever again settle for half of someone.
They talked for a few minutes and he said good night to her, while she was trying to choose the right words to tell him something, something important for her, but she cowardly told him good night and they hung up the phone. A strange emptiness overpowered her.
They say time heals all wounds, but how much time? Sometimes you want to fast forward time to when you are "supposed to" feel better. Sometimes, it goes by fast, sometimes slow. Sometimes you look back and things seem to have changed so much, so quickly, or not at all. But one thing is true - time does pass - life goes on. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does.
She put down the phone, walked over to the bed, sat down and thought, "It was hard letting you go. It was hard losing you, and it was hard seeing you again…and it’s still really hard. But I lost you once. I think I could do it again. Because that's what you want..."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fJnIuBl3RL0
1 comments:
Perfection...Nice Notebook touch at the end ;)
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