45
Monday October 23rd 2006, 2:08 am
Filed under: All Letters,Love Letters

To a dark and distant space,

He slowly approached the front door, crying in his heart. “Won’t you stay for a bit longer?” were the words he desperately wanted her to say. Her silence said everything instead. As he opened the door with the heaviest of hands, she pulled him towards her … it was to be their last hug. His arms wrapped around her fragile ribs, holding her as he would hold a newborn child. Tears swelled in his eyes, though he fought their coming on with all his might. “Don’t cry in front of her,” he thought, as his grip tightened. “Take care of yourself” she sadly spoke into his chest. Her words bounced off his quivering skin, as he knew she meant them with all the care she had left in her. Their entanglement released and he took two steps away from her and into the void of a lost city. “I want you to know, I really love you. You’re a wonderful person,” he said, bewildered by his ability to say exactly how he felt for her. She half smiled, and with a moment of sadness she replied, “I love you too.” The words he had longed to hear were finally materialized. Through all his pain and suffering, “I love you too” could have healed his heart and madness. But these beautiful and docile words came too late. It was over; it was their last goodbye. His heart thumped, causing his body to half quake. The only words he could muster were trite and cliché. “Good luck,” he blurted out. With all his essence, he turned about face and walked out of the apartment, his old apartment, her new home, and into the misty grey fog of the city night. His tears followed him throughout his old neighborhood, eventually catching up to him three blocks from the apartment. His eyes burned with a sadness that no animal should ever have to endure. His stomach became so twisted from the pain it seemed as if he had digested razorblades. Every face he came across on the street looked like painting by Picasso. The details of existence blurred into a mollified void. Up became down, left pointed towards the right. Though his tears shamed him, he did not hide his contorted face from the passer-bys. If he had to endure this public suffering, then the world must as well. It was his gift to this unsympathetic city of socialites. Walking was only achieved out of pure habit. It seemed as if he had walked miles before he could clearly see where he was going; he was going home to a homeless heart. His body, numb and with senses dulled, desired nothing more than a hug from a complete stranger. However, he couldn’t even get the courage to lift his gaze from the grey flat cement which his feet firmly felt below him. Today his lover passed away, as all people do. Stepping into the streets he passed by a few junkies he had befriended on his lonely nights without her, but they could offer nothing to this broken senseless man. No drug, no prescription for the pain, could cure his defeated psychosis. Cars in the street stopped for his dazed passing, yet secretly he wished them to run right through. Nothing mattered anymore; no one could save him, as no one could kill him. He was already dead, a walking zombie. He wanted to be reunited with his deceased love, but was stuck in purgatory, or worse, Hell. As he maneuvered his way through traffic thaumaturgically, his phone rang, with her number on the caller ID, causing him to pause in the middle of Mission Street. Ironically a bus didn’t see him and he was swept away from his sadness as one sweeps dirt under a rug. The city’s immune system found a way to cleanse itself of this sick vile disease. He finally found his home, under the brilliant mechanics of the number “22” bus. “Home James,” he thought to himself in a last attempt to kill a monster with laughter. His heart thumped twice then ceased to beat at all. He was now finally home.

-c

Comments Off on 45