Passion. Her body on his. Rhythmic movements as if to an unheard melody. They lock eyes.
Hunger. She urges him on with a gentle kiss. He turns away. It doesn't feel right.
Wonder. What does she think? Reasurrance is needed. He holds her close.
Passion. The scent of water. The scent of her. Mingled together. He can't resist.
Hunger. He looks at her. She looks towards the horizon. His hand gently carresses her shoulder. She moves away.
Wonder. What does she think? Why can't we kiss? Why can't we love?
Four different people, two different needs. Life put them together, differences tear them apart. Maybe they'll meet, probably not.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
The Moment
You are in my arms. What are you thinking? Are you happy? Am I enough?
The depth of your eyes. Looking for a sign. Is it there? Do you love?
I feel your heart. It calms me. The gentle rhythm the beat to the song I long to sing.
Your gentle breathing. Warmth against my neck. Can it last forever?
The smoothness of your skin. Your hand in mine. I will never let go.
The scent of your hair. Captivating. Like a drug. I breathe it in.
Content.
The depth of your eyes. Looking for a sign. Is it there? Do you love?
I feel your heart. It calms me. The gentle rhythm the beat to the song I long to sing.
Your gentle breathing. Warmth against my neck. Can it last forever?
The smoothness of your skin. Your hand in mine. I will never let go.
The scent of your hair. Captivating. Like a drug. I breathe it in.
Content.
Helpless
Why aren't you happy? Why can't I help?
Your face. Sadness, pain. Emotions you will not share, yet share them you do.
A storm in your life. I could be the eye. You turn to salt. Harder it rains.
You long for love's sweet embrace, it makes you forget. You look at me. I'm crying inside.
I long for a place, where we are alone. A perfect world. No crying exists.
Helpless I look at your distraught face, your mind a maelstrom that I wish to calm. I reach out with my soul, knowing it's not enough. Torn apart by circumstance, by life, by an audience that is cruel and judgemental. I will wait. I will love.
You are not alone.
Your face. Sadness, pain. Emotions you will not share, yet share them you do.
A storm in your life. I could be the eye. You turn to salt. Harder it rains.
You long for love's sweet embrace, it makes you forget. You look at me. I'm crying inside.
I long for a place, where we are alone. A perfect world. No crying exists.
Helpless I look at your distraught face, your mind a maelstrom that I wish to calm. I reach out with my soul, knowing it's not enough. Torn apart by circumstance, by life, by an audience that is cruel and judgemental. I will wait. I will love.
You are not alone.
Love before first sight.
Few that noticed the young man would have thought that he was in love. Walking down the calm isles of the store while looking down at the footprints left by the many before him, his mind is drenched with anticipation and most of all fear. As if in reaction the clouds outside inched their way to cover the silvery moon darkening in the windows above, casting cold shadows that the pale lights above strove to dissipate. If asked, the man would have told you he was searching for new clothes. In reality he was forbidden from the sweet relief of sleep, doomed to relentlessly live the following day in his troubled mind, as if it had already passed. He wordlessly pays, unknowing that the lady he left was quietly saying a pray to herself that the man would find peace. He walks out, taking a second to look up and curse the dreary sky that so unmercifully bore into his mind and soul, trying to perpetuate the feeling of fear and doubt. The drive home was a quiet one; the man was alone with his thoughts. As he lay down to sleep, a sudden and complete feeling of peace overwhelmed him, tucking him into bed and putting his mind at ease. The clouds obeyed, letting the luminescent light bathe the man in its glow. The man smiled, his dreams took him once more to the next day, only this time without fear and dread.
The sun's warm, golden rays reached in caressing the man's face. The smile, which never left his face throughout the night, turned into a yawn as he got up, stretched and got ready for his day. He puts on the product of his restless adventure of the previous night, and as he sits in his car he takes a minute to think. His heart tries to match the pace of his mind, and fearing its beat would startle the neighbors the man shuts the door and drives off down the black asphalt of the cold city street. He turned on the radio to drown out the stream of thoughts, only momentarily succeeding, before turning it off once again. His destination was far off, a lonely drive with only his thoughts to hold his hand. His journey at an end he vigorously searches for signs of the object of his thoughts. He dreaded going inside the store, she might be there; he might endure a horrible rejection. Once inside he again found himself walking around tracing those that preceded him. The strange isles offered no condolence; the strange people no comforting arms. He was alone.
The buzz of a phone in his pocket startles him. Reaching for it the man knew who it would be. Stomach in his throat he answers, hoping to be able to answer, managing a soft hello. It is her. She is here! Running to the door to meet her, he suddenly realized something that escaped his mind before. She is here. He comes to a quick halt, suddenly paralyzed; the feeling of dread returns. Will she reject him? This thought refuses to leave his mind as he looks at his watch, wanting to reassure himself that time was still moving. The second hand seemed reluctant to move, seemingly laughing at its owner's turmoil. Air rushes past him, racing to some dusty corner behind him. The door had opened. He looked up. The morning light emanated in, momentarily blinding him, his eyes adjusted, and then he saw her. The second hand, having had a change of heart, now stopped. They locked eyes, the air rushing past him stealing his fear, while carrying to him the love from the one before him. Acceptance. As the man embraced his love for the first time walking down those strange isles, he was happy.
The sun's warm, golden rays reached in caressing the man's face. The smile, which never left his face throughout the night, turned into a yawn as he got up, stretched and got ready for his day. He puts on the product of his restless adventure of the previous night, and as he sits in his car he takes a minute to think. His heart tries to match the pace of his mind, and fearing its beat would startle the neighbors the man shuts the door and drives off down the black asphalt of the cold city street. He turned on the radio to drown out the stream of thoughts, only momentarily succeeding, before turning it off once again. His destination was far off, a lonely drive with only his thoughts to hold his hand. His journey at an end he vigorously searches for signs of the object of his thoughts. He dreaded going inside the store, she might be there; he might endure a horrible rejection. Once inside he again found himself walking around tracing those that preceded him. The strange isles offered no condolence; the strange people no comforting arms. He was alone.
The buzz of a phone in his pocket startles him. Reaching for it the man knew who it would be. Stomach in his throat he answers, hoping to be able to answer, managing a soft hello. It is her. She is here! Running to the door to meet her, he suddenly realized something that escaped his mind before. She is here. He comes to a quick halt, suddenly paralyzed; the feeling of dread returns. Will she reject him? This thought refuses to leave his mind as he looks at his watch, wanting to reassure himself that time was still moving. The second hand seemed reluctant to move, seemingly laughing at its owner's turmoil. Air rushes past him, racing to some dusty corner behind him. The door had opened. He looked up. The morning light emanated in, momentarily blinding him, his eyes adjusted, and then he saw her. The second hand, having had a change of heart, now stopped. They locked eyes, the air rushing past him stealing his fear, while carrying to him the love from the one before him. Acceptance. As the man embraced his love for the first time walking down those strange isles, he was happy.
Exploration of Memories
How did you forget? Did I do something wrong? As I lie in bed at night I think. I dwell on the past. I cannot escape it's clutch.
Crying. Emotion from within. So simple, and yet seemingly insurmountable.
Memories. They will not abandon me. Why can I not forget? Memories I did not know existed, unearthed from a cursory glance at a joyful visage.
Sleep. Such a happy escape. Yet, memories still persist. Invasion of dreams. I'm happy again. Why do I have to wake? Reality.
Hope. A new beginning. I cannot give up.
Fear. Of failure. Of rejection. Of love.
Determination. I will not give up. I will not forget. The past is gone. The future is ahead.
Regret. Rejected. Go far from me.
Memories are my siren. I live in the past while trying to forge a bright new future. When I think of what the past has held and what the future seems to, I feel the urge to give up. Hope persists however. It is the beeswax in my ears. The mast to which I am tied. It is music from a lyre, keeping me from the sea of self pity and despair. Soon you will be outplayed, dear memories. You will fling yourself upon the rocks of new, better ones.
You will perish.
Crying. Emotion from within. So simple, and yet seemingly insurmountable.
Memories. They will not abandon me. Why can I not forget? Memories I did not know existed, unearthed from a cursory glance at a joyful visage.
Sleep. Such a happy escape. Yet, memories still persist. Invasion of dreams. I'm happy again. Why do I have to wake? Reality.
Hope. A new beginning. I cannot give up.
Fear. Of failure. Of rejection. Of love.
Determination. I will not give up. I will not forget. The past is gone. The future is ahead.
Regret. Rejected. Go far from me.
Memories are my siren. I live in the past while trying to forge a bright new future. When I think of what the past has held and what the future seems to, I feel the urge to give up. Hope persists however. It is the beeswax in my ears. The mast to which I am tied. It is music from a lyre, keeping me from the sea of self pity and despair. Soon you will be outplayed, dear memories. You will fling yourself upon the rocks of new, better ones.
You will perish.
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