Ended up writing a short story on a woman suffering from mental illness…Guess 2am brings out the dead writer in me…
Don’t waste your time staring at me, she said
I’ve got nothing better to do, he said
What do you see, she demanded
Well you certainly aren’t a piece of art, he grinned
Then why don’t you find yourself a museum, she growled
I did only it has the damaged goods on display, he raised his eyebrow
Why don’t you walk away then, she enquired
In that rusted piece of you lies a magnet field, he complained
The sun is making you spit nonsense, she muttered
Your eyes I’m talking about your eyes, he pointed
What about them, she questioned
Even behind a dead soul they shine so bright & blinding, he smiled
What is your name, she smiled back
Albert, he smoothen his tie
Well Albert you’re doomed now for them eyes are cursed, she laughed
How so, he frowned
Anyone who has ever fallen in them has never recovered from the fall, she whispered
How many of them, he wondered
Two so far, she cried
What happened to them, he swallowed a lump
The fall broke them enough to walk away and never come back, she turned away
Might I try the jump, he cleared his throat
My poor Albert you’ve already taken the fall now wait till it hits you, she winked
I won’t walk away, he announced
So said the father & the son, she choked
Oh boy! I’ve been struggling since then to pick my favorite. Sure book is amazing but the verbal presentation is just so magical it takes you right inside the story. It’s a beauriful sad story of friendship and loss, told with such fine grace and humor.
Dearest Charcoal Blacks,
Taking a pen as I sit here on the table, with hundreds of words I can’t find the right one to start with. Where to begin isn’t the problem but how to begin, should I confess straightaway about my profound love for you or must I first tell you when it all began. I wonder if I fell in love the very day I saw you for the first time, while you carried those water cans too heavy to slip on every step, or the time you looked at me wiping mud from your cheeks. Maybe it happened the day I saw you cry for I had never felt a pain so heartbreaking.
Those eyes, those charcoal eyes, held me and I haven’t been able to shake myself free. I’m not suppose to think of the charcoal black sea behind those eyes of yours but I’m afraid I have lost touch with my sanity, or whatever that is there to bide one by laws and rights and wrongs.
Everyday you and I talk through our stares, smiles, smirks and shrugs; a whole language we have built and yet no one has heard a word. These deep conversations we have sharing her heart out from far away mean more than the countless hours spent talking to people who know me, but not my soul.
I admit even though all I know is your name and I’m sure you know mine, I feel like I have known you for years like even before I knew myself. Do I sound too hopelessly lost? Maybe I would when I’ll tell you one day I’m going to walk up to you and give you this letter, smile and even ask you if we can go for a dinner sometime. I can almost picture your charcoal black widening with a shock but not for long, as they would soon twinkle and shine allowing the creased lines around your lips to turn into a grin.
Do you suppose we can ever find ourselves a world where it would be easy to not be afraid? I can’t go back to the life I knew before I found your face, your serious brooding pale face with a certain kind of beauty that has become a dagger inside me. If anyone takes it out it would be the end of me; I can’t get you out now.
I love the way you laugh, often to let me know you are there, while pretending to talk to those around you. Sitting on the window with a pen and paper I do my best to draw you, but even my best fails to capture the devilishly charming air of yours. Chewing your lips, frowning, laughing and lost, forgive me for I have captured you and buried you in pages hidden in my copy of Mein Kampf. I can picture you laughing hysterically and raising your left eyebrow to this scandal.
Some days you sit alone waiting for your turn while others get waters filled in their plastic cans, chattering enough to not care for the time, leaving you and I with couple of extra minutes to talk in our silence but you don’t look up. I have often wondered the pain you hid when keeping yourself busy in smoke, focusing your charcoal blacks towards the other side of road not meeting my watery blues, I wonder if the pain, keeps you up at night like it does to me. I find no solace and sleep until I see you again, until I look into those eyes throwing a mischievous eyebrow at me daring me to say a word a real word, for then I know you are no more hurting at least not enough to disappear in vain.
I can’t recall how many times I have taken a step forward and two steps back, exercising hundreds of them, at one place not finding enough courage to call out to you. Do you believe I’m like them, one of them who call you nothing but a Jew like you have no name? I so hope my darling you know me enough to know I would never hurt you or belittle you like them; for all this heart of mine desires is the freedom to run to you and kiss those dazzling charcoal blacks that have imprisoned my heart, my flesh, my soul.
One day, my dear I will break the ropes, take those steps and pull you into my arms and kiss you deeply but not before I tuck back those loose strands of hair that often fall as a playful curtain over my favorite charcoal blacks teasing me, until your fingers find them and place them behind your ears. I promise I would love you, all of you, those charcoal blacks, those teasing brown hair, the frown and freckles, the lustful eyebrows and the hurt you wear all day, I will kiss them all one day.
Wait for me, even if you don’t get this letter, please wait for me.
Madly in love with you!
The curious blue eyes from the window.
Inspired by this music…
I sat there with a glass in my hand staring at the faces I didn’t know too well, it was a party I went with a friend of a friend. All I wanted was free liquor and maybe someone to take home for the night. Music was good, so was the crowd. I scanned faces but none appealed, not even the most breathtakingly beautiful ones. Something was off, my own self perhaps.
And then she walked right in front of me. Tears dripping slowly, like a painfully beautiful river flowing under the starry night. There was a man, they held hands yet they were fidgeting with unsaid words and said ones all at the same time. I looked, I stared. She stared back. I didn’t flinch, I was held right there by her. Pinned by her gaze. Something she wanted to say, something I wanted to hear. She stood there staring and I sat there shivering.
A sly smile, an excuse, she whispered words and walked away from him towards the corner. Not far but right there in my vision. She wanted me around, I thought, and so I did with my eyes. Sobbing silently she stood with back of her head pecking the wall and I knew I was gone, from her mind and sight. While she battled her demons I fought my urge. Strangeness hovered, my throat dried, ache strangled what I felt for the first time a heart inside me.
Lowering my eyes, I touched my chest. There was something living inside the cage and I felt it like I never did before. Raising my eyes I found hers again, even the curtain of tears did nothing to diminish the magic pull. I followed with steps, slowly but steady. We stood hands apart, nobody was breathing. Cornered and next to the wall, we did nothing but stared right into each other’s eyes.
Beating too hard a noise broke the silence, a heartbeat. Mine or hers, was hard to know from whose inside came the thunderous sound. And then the world drowned; the noise, heartbeat, the ache, the eyes and the face vanished, as she held my face in hers and kissed me consuming all my reclusiveness.
Just like that she walked away, not before she kissed my eyes that I failed to open even when she was gone. Finding my balance against the wall, I smiled and cried all at the same time. I knew we were going to meet again, I knew I was ruined for life, I knew I would go home alone tonight and for every other night until her eyes find mine, again.
So this happened yesterday. The story. Slept too late but was worth it. This song below set the mood for the scene.
The moment of pride, joy and sorrow for a writer when the story comes to its last line, last word…even if it’s just a file in a folder for many, it’s child to its creater who gave birth to the names, people and protagonists living inside those pages.
After going through ups and downs with those people every day, when rest of the world went to sleep, the writer is now left alone and sad…like the parent whose child has moved out for a job or a best friend who is now in another city…what now?
The joy and the sigh of strange pain…story of a writer who writes stories.