»
Main Forums
»
Passions in Prose
»
The Passing Seasons
| Passions in Prose |
|
The Passing Seasons |
|
|
SimpleDiscourse Member
since 2003-04-24
Posts 79 |
I was having trouble getting any sort of response to this in other places so I decided to post it here.  ------------------------------ It is winter. It is raining. I imagine that it is summer. I imagine the smell of flowers soaked in a late afternoon downpour. I imagine the sun casting it's light onto slowly passing storm clouds. My eyes close tightly. For a brief moment, I am there. It is summer once again. Upon reopening of my eyes, I see trees missing their leaves. I see winter everywhere. You are singing while you drive. You are always singing, softly and secretly to yourself. I wonder how you can always feel like singing. Once you told me. You said, "There is a melody for everything you feel." I wonder what the melody you are singing now means. I wonder what you are feeling. I am silently recalling a time when I wanted you. A time when your singing felt like all I would ever need to hear. It was summer then. We shared cigarettes on your front lawn. You said, "Someday I am going to write songs about you. Someday every note will be tainted with you. Someday..." I didn't ask why someday wasn't right now but you answered anyway. "You are too new to be a song now. It would sound rushed and frantic. In time, you will be the perfect song." We spent nights in each other's beds. Beds with bare mattresses because the sheets always found their way to the floor anyway. I would pretend to sleep. How could I really sleep with you lying so close to me? During the night, our eyes would open at the exact same moment. Even in the darkness, yours shined brilliantly. "Are you tired?" You would ask. I would reply, "No." Then, you smiled. Then, we let our passions get the best of us. It was in these moments, that I surrendered. It is winter now. It's funny how the passing seasons change things. The abrupt end of summer had forced an inexplicable distance between us. I turn away from the rain drops slowly making their way down the window. I look in your direction. Perhaps it is the light but your once crystalline blue eyes have turned a dull gray. "What's happened to us?" I don't know what wills me to ask the question. I regret it as soon as it drops out of my mouth. You don't take your eyes off the road. I watch you bite your bottom lip. You say, "We're no longer physically addicted to each other." I nod slowly. You continue, "Being around you doesn't feel like it used to anymore." I should be protesting. I should be saying, "No. No, I still need you. The hairs on my arms still stand on end when you touch me, when you look at me." I should be saying all of this. But instead, I am quiet. I am quiet because it is true. "The electricity is gone." You quickly glance at me when I say it. And then you nod once, looking back at the road. I am silently recalling the day it happened. November. It wasn't winter yet but it was cold enough to be mistaken for it. You came to my door. When I opened it, you were standing there with cheeks flushed from the cold wind outside. You had a smile on your face. A smile that told me you were up to something. "Sir, can I help you?" You grinned even wider. "It's done." I look at you, confused. "What's done?" You grabbed my hand, "Come on." I found myself sitting on your couch, watching you sift through sheets of manuscript paper. "Today is someday. Or, last night was someday. I was watching you sleep last night and suddenly I realized that now was the time. It was the perfect time for a song to be written about you." I watched you move over to the piano and sat down. You had always complained that your apartment couldn't fit a grand. Your fingers flowed gracefully over the keys as you played the song. My song. I remember thinking that it was perfect. Not too fast. Not too slow. You sang the words slowly and quietly. You sang the words with your eyes closed. You looked so fragile then. As you were singing the song you had written for me. You were showing me what was inside. You were offering everything to me. If only I had realized it then. But, I didn't. I just didn't grasp that this was you. This song was you. This song was everything you had ever felt for me. When you finished playing, you just sat there at the piano. Staring down at the black and white keys. Waiting for a reaction. I wasn't sure how to react. I got up and walked over to you, sitting next to you on the little bit of space left on the bench. I buried my head into your shoulder but you didn't move. You just sat there, motionless. "So...what did you think?" You asked quietly still looking at your hands. "It was beautiful." You stood up from the bench angrily. I wasn't sure why you were angry. I looked up at you as you were raking your hands through your hair, pacing back and forth. It was then that I realized. I could never give you anything in return. I could never give you anything tangible. I had nothing but myself to give. But, you. You had this music. This music that was so much more than just you. You were giving me yourself and then some. In that moment, I realized you were so much more than I could ever be. I realized why you were angry and I became angry. Angry with myself. I got up and walked over to you. I took your face in my hands and kissed you. "That's all I've got." I walked out. I walked home. You never called me that day. I waited. I thought maybe you'd realize that I was giving you as much as I could. I waited. Thinking, maybe, just maybe you'd call or you'd show up at my doorstep saying, "It's okay. I love you, anyway." And when I went to bed, I kept hoping that you'd sneak in through my open window and you'd lay with me. And you'd sing to me. And I'd pretend to sleep again. And your eyes would shine in the dark of my room. But, none of that happened. We still saw each other. It wasn't the same, though. Winter came and we grew cold. Yet we still tried in vain to grasp onto those feelings that once existed. We still tried to pretend that we wanted each other. That we needed each other. But, we didn't. It is winter. And there is now an understanding between us. Something unspoken. And it says that once we are out of this car, we will no longer be obligated to pretend. Leaning my head against the cold glass window, I look at you. You aren't singing. I open my mouth to question it but you are one step ahead of me. "There's no melody when you feel nothing." |
||
| © Copyright 2004 Erin Reynolds - All Rights Reserved | |||
Larry C
since 2001-09-10
Posts 10286United States |
An interesting write. It generates many emotions and thoughts about what is or is not meant to be. If tears could build a stairway and memories a lane, I'd walk right up to heaven and bring you home again. |
||
|
merlynh Member
since 1999-09-26
Posts 411deer park, wa |
Told from a different point of view would improve this piece and bring out the missing elements. |
||
|
merlynh Member
since 1999-09-26
Posts 411deer park, wa |
I feel I need to re-post my reply. I got lost at first reading because of the way you write, yet with patience and consideration I got drawn in to your world. It was sweet, tender, loving and true such things are when you’re in love. Your able to show passion in your writing which is a quality. I have to ask you whether or not you showed the girl your writing? You had more to give then you give yourself credit. But from experience I can tell you some love was never meant to be no matter how much one wants it unless the other feels the same. Oddly enough not everyone can love. Perhaps that may be the answer. In some cases I’ve found it to be true. We live in an uncertain times and love is not always what it seems. I find alot of comfort in other writers wiser than I. Henry Thoreau wrote in his journal Feb 18, 1841 "All romance is grounded on friendship." Later in the same paragraph he wrote, " Plato's Republic is governed by Platonic love." |
||
|
a123 Member
since 2004-03-27
Posts 72 |
Wow! its like once i started reading..i just couldnt stop.You have a way with words,u have exprssed the emotions you wanted to really well.. i really Liked this.Keep writting.. a123 |
||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
