Words & Feelings

over.

Day 1

I recognise you. Even with all these pews between us, I know it is you. I recognise your slanky figure, complete with tall height and skinny limbs. I recognise your round face and that messy, dark blonde (almost brown) hair. The sight of you flips my stomach upside down – I can scarcely believe it. How long has it been since we last saw and spoke to one another? Five. Five years. And I remember it all too well.

I am sort of excited to see you again, despite the fact that the reason we haven’t communicated for the last five years is that it didn’t quite end all that well between us; in fact, we didn’t like each other very much at all. Still, I wonder if perhaps – now that we are both older – we can achieve what earlier were not quite able to achieve, and become friends. I want to say hi to you, and have a small conversation with you to see what it is like. But you do not seem to be interested in that: every time I approach you, you either turn away, or conveniently start talking to someone else. It seems you are intent on ignoring me.

Day 2

I watch you from my seat, remembering all there is to remember. I remember how mad I was about you, how attracted I was to you – and how you were the first person to touch me, and how we almost went all the way. I remember how I could never completely let you in, despite my passionate longing for your physicality. I remember you telling me I was your best friend, even though you had also said we were not compatible. I remember how you so often ignored me and made me wonder what was wrong. You always made me feel desired, but never loved. I remember flying across the country to see you, and being met with you getting stoned. I remember you asking me to check your heartbeat when you were high, to make sure you weren’t getting too high. I remember our last conversation, and I remember shutting the door of your apartment in the early morning, feeling like I was finally done with you.

Suddenly, you make your way over to me, interrupting my reverie.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hi,” I say, gathering my things on the pew to make room for you to sit. I cannot, do not, understand you – yesterday you were clearly ignoring me and now you are speaking to me?

“Still living with your parents?” You ask.

“Yeah, but probably moving out next year.”

“Are they here tonight?”

“No — they don’t really come to my concerts anymore — too many of them these days –“

What kind of small talk is that! My heart is pumping, and I feel so chirpy, nervous and embarrassed that I have no idea what I am saying.

“Could you give me a ride home? I didn’t drive in tonight …”

“Sure – I mean, I could drop you off at a train station, would that be okay?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

As I take you to my car, something becomes glaringly apparent. Had you not needed a lift, you would have ignored me just as successfully as last night. I gave you the benefit of the doubt, as I had higher expectations of you. But I see you only care for your own needs and, much like in the past, are only ever kind and friendly towards me when you are seeking to gain something from me.

Go back to where you came from; your time in my life is definitely and completely over.

balm.

the sight of you is a delight

and a balm, instantly soothing

the aches that dig themselves inside

after too long an absence;

and out of which seeps out

an unbearable longing, a seeking

to be near you once more.

communion.

My soul longs to be in communion with yours.
There, in the non-physical realms, I shall find you,
and together we shall be,
in perfect harmony,
with no holding back, no walls keeping each other apart;
We shall know each other inside out
and there shall be only peace, and love, and joy
from reuniting with an old friend, long gone
But never forgotten.

the thought of you.

the thought of you is never very far away.

“this”

She could hear the sound of birds chirping in the trees. It was a warm day, early in the summer, and the sun was high up in the sky, which was blue, bluer than the shirt he was wearing.

“This,” she started, waving in the air a small bundle of folded pieces of paper, “was me attempting to communicate to you how much I –“, breath, “–I appreciate you.”

feelings.

What I feel for you is passionate platonic love …

graduation day.

Today is graduation day. I put on a dark green dress, and I’ve let my hair out. I would have put make-up on too, but I ran out of time.

The room is crowded with teachers, students and their parents. Everyone is talking, but I don’t mind the noise so much, as everyone seems to be genuinely happy and excited. I feel excited too.

I know you are somewhere in this room, and I’m hoping that I’ll see you some time this evening before I go home. I don’t know what I’d say to you, but I just want to see you.

But for now, it is my friends that I see. They are huddled in a group in one corner of the room towards the back. I start making my way over to them when suddenly, quite out of the blue, you appear; and just as suddenly, I quite forget about my friends.

We smile at each other as we always do.

“Hi,” you say, “you look nice”.

“Thank you,” I say, feeling my cheeks flare up at the compliment.

I expect you to tell me something else, for I notice you leaning in towards me. I wait for you to say whatever it is you desire to say, but you don’t. Instead, you keep leaning in, closer and closer, and that’s when I understand there is nothing you wish to tell me – you only want to kiss me. And I, realising this, do not move away, for I understand that I only you want you to kiss me too.

(This was also some bizarre dream I had months ago. Vivid, emotional, and bizarre).

inside & out.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking all these personal questions,” she started, timidly glancing in his direction.

By the smile he gave her, she knew that he didn’t mind, and that, quite on the contrary, her obvious curiosity was pleasant to him. Still, he said, “Not at all.”

They had been sitting side by side for quite a while, and indeed she had asked him numerous questions: about his childhood, his relationship with his wife, his beliefs about God, his attitude towards family and friendship and life and purpose. She had chimed in with her own opinions here and there, but for the most part had carefully listened and taken in his every word.

“It’s just that …,” she played with the hem of her skirt while finding the right words, “I always felt like I knew you on the inside.”

She kept her gaze down, fixed on her hands now resting patiently on her lap. “It is nice to know you on the outside too, now.”

seeing you.

I don’t know exactly how I see you; only that I see you differently to every one else.

I do not see the look in your eyes, or the colour of your hair.

I do not see the wrinkles on your skin, or the shape of your body.

In fact, it is like you have no clothes, no body, no skin, no bones.

And my eyes, blind as they are, perceive only what remains:

A heart, filled with generosity, filled with kindness. A heart of gold.

A heart that I love.

the chair.

As I walk up to the restaurant table, around which were gathered twenty chairs, it occurs to me that what I want is not within my power. There was a particular way I want the evening to unfold – namely, that you and I should sit close to one another – but I cannot simply impose my desire onto anyone else, and least of all you.

I pretend to pick a chair at random so that those already present cannot guess what is on my mind. My heart sinks a little as I realise you will not be able to sit next to me; but again, I do what I am best at: I pretend. That nothing is the matter.

Finally you arrive, and you probably see me on one side of the table, as well as the dozen empty chairs on which you could sit. I want to call out to you to come and sit here, somewhere close by, so that we may speak, and I may see you easily, but I dare not utter a word. It is all in your hands, all up to you where you sit and I will love you either way, whether you are close or far away from me.

But you’ve always had this ability to read my mind, it seems, for you very casually walk up to the chair right across from mine. Am I dreaming? No, it is real, this is real: out of all the chairs you could have sat on, out of all the people you could have been close to, you have chosen to sit right in front of me, close to me. Perhaps so that we may speak, and that you may see me easily.

You must have had some idea how much I wanted you close by. Could it be possible you sat here to make me happy? Could it be possible you were hoping for the same thing as me?