Tuesday, October 19, 2004

Silence

She wanted him, and then she didn't. And just like you'd get rid of a used paper-towel she trashed him. Suddenly distance. Silence. Oh, that ever-piercing silence.

So now the kid isn't himself. Drinks more. Smokes more. Eats little. It's the always-repeating tale of the unrequited. I'll leave it at that without finishing the thought since I don't think the feeling was that intense. It was more like a desire. "I want her." Eventually it transforms and becomes about the chase and the game and it's no longer about how she makes you feel. So it's not love. And it's not even a feeling remotely similar to.

I tried to tell him to move on. I wanted him to understand that dwelling on the situation won't accomplish anything. I tell him that what's gone is gone. And what wasn't there to begin with won't be there now. Because I held on for too long. And because people held on to me for too long.

But she calls his house late at night. And she can still make him feel alive. So he picks up when the phone rings despite recognizing her number on the caller-id. And he listens to her excuses about the distance she needs. And about how she can't break totally free. And sometimes she cries, and sometimes it's just a plain, dry conversation. And I try to tell him to just let it all go. I try to convince him the gamble isn't worth the pain. But he tries anyway. He can't help but to do so.

She wanted him, and then she didn't. And just like that, distance. And silence. How I still remember that silence. How I wish I could make everyone who is still hanging on hear my screams in the darkness of sound.

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