navwin » Main Forums » Passions in Prose » Du Bist Nicht Hier
Passions in Prose
Post A Reply Post New Topic Du Bist Nicht Hier Go to Previous / Newer Topic Back to Topic List Go to Next / Older Topic
Allysa
Deputy Moderator 10 ToursDeputy Moderator 5 Tours
Senior Member
since 1999-11-09
Posts 1952
In an upside-down garden

0 posted 2002-11-19 11:41 AM


(authors note: Du bist nicht hier means you are not here in german, and this is a fictional piece)

Du Bist Nicht Hier

The breeze off the water hits my face, stinging my red cheeks and blowing my crazy hair.  The water is so far below me, the stars so far above me, and in the middle, where I’m stationed, the world is spinning too fast, too too fast and I can’t breathe.

My glance turns from the rippling water swirling below me to my purse, my brown leather hippie bag that is laying lifeless on the ground beside me.  Strange to see it just laying there, lifeless, because that bag was my life.

I kneel down and grasp one of the leather straps.  As I pull it towards myself, the leather scraping on the wooden planks of the dock, objects spill out and scatter on the ground.  A manila envelope with my name scrawled in blood red beneath the title "LETTERS" falls at the base of my knees and I pick it up.   Funny, the most sacred thing in my life, the thing that means the absolute most to me I carried around in a manila envelope.  

I undo the duct tape that is holding the envelope together and slide the other three smaller envelopes out and into my hand.  It occurs to me that my entire life is inside those three envelopes that are crammed to the explosion point with letters.  Letters you wrote to me, when the world was still, when the wind was still, when the night was still and the water calm.  Letters, you talked to me through letters, communicating things we couldn’t say aloud and even things we could.  

You initiated everything simply because I refused to.  I refused to acknowledge your presence, refused to acknowledge anything at all. That’s when the letters started.  They were slipped into my mailbox before the sun rose each morning and I retrieved them when I grabbed the morning paper.  It was rather peculiar one morning to walk out and notice the red flag on the mailbox was up when I was certain I had put it down the day before.
  
Every morning a letter greeted me and I welcomed every day with a smile.  The first few letters contained no signature, simply a smiley face.  


Du bist nicht hier....

The envelopes hang limply in my hand, the wind blowing the flaps wildly, my grip on it is so loose it’s amazing that the water and wind haven’t claimed it yet.  They could double team on me and I would never stand a chance.  I clutch the envelopes to my chest, the cool paper scratching at my neck as my hands begin to shake.  

"Lane.."

At the sound of my name, my head flips around, facing the shore, where the houses are.  There is no one.  No one is calling to me, no one is coming to me.  No one can ease my lonely pain.  I am all alone.

You are not here.  You are not sitting beside me, you are not standing behind me, you are not at your desk, furiously writing me another
letter to add to the ones in the envelope, you are not calling out my name.

My blood red nails dig into my skin until they are dripping a matching color and I wipe them on my jeans.  You hated that, how I would solve all
problems by bottling everything up inside and releasing it through pain.  You hated that I wouldn’t trust you enough to tell you my secrets, to share with you anything that hurt me.

The blood stains on my hands and jeans look so pretty to me.  Such sweet relief.  Funny because it doesn’t hurt at all.  So many half moon scars cover my hands, created by my claw like fingernails.

You were the only one who ever noticed, who ever cared to look at my hands, to look at every single part of me and analyze and memorize it all.  You could recall every color in my eyes, the lines in my face, the way my een I was concerned or confused.  You could remember every way I looked at you, the shape my eyes were when they looked in yours, every line and curve of my body, everything.  

We fit together like puzzle pieces, your arms around my waist, my arms around your neck, kissing, hugging, nibbling, snuggling.  Perfect everything.  Charmed life.  

Du bist nicht hier...

The wind whispers in my ear and nibbles at my neck, sending shivers up and down my spine.  Wooden planks beneath me creak, the water lapping at the poles, shaking the dock that I am securely sitting on.  

Crazy, how ironic that is.  Alone, I am sitting on this dock, so high above the water, just like that one crazy night.  You came to me, called out to me and when I did not respond, you sat down next to me.  The water stung my eyes that night, the moon had disappeared, the sky was clouded and I was alone until you sat down next to me and handed me your jacket because I was swaying.

I’m swaying now.  Alone, on this dock, so alone.  My one fear come true; to be alone. Totally and completely alone, with no cure, no antidote.  I can’t face it alone.  Don’t you understand that?  I cannot handle this loneliness on my own.  I’m incapable.  I’m incapacitated.  I’m incarcerated inside myself when I really only want to be imprisoned inside of you again.    

Du bist nicht hier..

You are not here.  I am not here.  No one is here.  Lonely.  

The wind has stopped blowing, the water is no longer churning and this lonely silence is deafening.  It burns my eardrums, burns my soul, burns my eyes, even because I can see the emptiness in the air.  I can feel it, all of it, floating in the particles in the air.  Why aren’t you here?  Why am I here all alone?  Why?  

Leaves float in the water, almost dead, drowning.  I never knew that leaves could drown.  People fear drowning, but do leaves fear drowning? Do they know when they fall from their trees, leaving the branches barren, they could drift into the water and shrivel up?  Do they know they could drown? They could die, all alone, in the water, all shriveled up, but they would still be beautiful.  Lonely leaves.  Lonely truth.  Lonely me.

Du bist nicht hier..... You are not here.

"Wie ein Quadrat in einem Kreis, eck' ich immer wieder an obwohl ich doch schon lange weiß, daß ich niemals ändern kann." ~Wizo

© Copyright 2002 Allysa - All Rights Reserved
Skyfire
Deputy Moderator 10 ToursDeputy Moderator 1 TourDeputy Moderator 1 TourDeputy Moderator 1 Tour
Member Elite
since 2000-12-27
Posts 3381
Riding
1 posted 2002-11-28 08:20 PM


Allysa... wow.

No, on second thought, let's not go to Camelot.
~ Arthur (Monty Python Search for the Holy Grail)
I'm Rhondiforous!

LCBS
Senior Member
since 2001-11-29
Posts 532
Connecticut
2 posted 2002-11-29 04:20 PM


I think she explained it well....

wow


and wonderfully done


~Lisa

Allysa
Deputy Moderator 10 ToursDeputy Moderator 5 Tours
Senior Member
since 1999-11-09
Posts 1952
In an upside-down garden
3 posted 2002-12-02 11:40 AM


Wow as well, I wasn't expecting any good replies... hmmm.. yes, I don't look on the bright side of things... thank you both very much, I feel very special right now...

"Wie ein Quadrat in einem Kreis, eck' ich immer wieder an obwohl ich doch schon lange weiß, daß ich niemals ändern kann." ~Wizo

Post A Reply Post New Topic ⇧ top of page ⇧ Go to Previous / Newer Topic Back to Topic List Go to Next / Older Topic
All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format.
navwin » Main Forums » Passions in Prose » Du Bist Nicht Hier

Passions in Poetry | pipTalk Home Page | Main Poetry Forums | 100 Best Poems

How to Join | Member's Area / Help | Private Library | Search | Contact Us | Login
Discussion | Tech Talk | Archives | Sanctuary