I’m feeling lonely. Really lonely.
I need you here. I need someone. I want to feel you. I want to connect. Please. I may break down.
Do you want to know how I feel?…
He’s on that road. That very familiar road.
I step towards the door. Hesitantly I walk. No one is home. The house is asleep. I stop for a moment. Reaching into my jacket pocket I take out a small paper.
It reads, Hey. I’ll keep this brief. I need you back, basically. I can’t get you out of my mind. I know this all probably means nothing to you now. But please. Hear me out. I can’t function. I know, I was selfish. I was crazy, and probably still am. It’s been a year. I need to see you. I need to hear your voice. It’s been a year and I still can’t erase you from remembrance. Please, hear me out.
I’ve always told myself that I don’t need anyone. That I don’t hold on to things. Once it’s done, it’s done. I would say once you’re gone I won’t want nor need you back. But on my loneliest nights, on my coldest nights, my mind can’t help but quest for your name, your touch, your face, somewhere in the depths of my mind.
My crazy mind.
It’s not addiction. I don’t know what it is. I think it’s loneliness though.
I slip the note through the letterbox, and at that moment the headlights of a car beam from my right. Is it her?
Are you there?
It’s dark. The bitterness of the winter night deluges my entire body.
The note is irreversibly through the letterbox. I can’t do anything about it at this point. All I can do is walk away. Flickers of regret penetrate my conscious. But what could I do about it now? What’s done is done.
I amble away sorrily from the door. I see the silhouette of a female in front of the car walking towards me.
It’s her. I knew it was her. Who else could it have been. I was expecting her. That’s why I came here. That’s why I’m here now.
She approaches me without a word. She stands before me. I simply stare. Silently I stare.
“You look beautiful.” my vocal chords eventually manage to enunciate. She says nothing, but smiles sheepishly. Not at what I’d said. She was smirking enthusiastically before she’d even seen me. I’m not sure she even heard me.
I continue standing there for some 20 seconds. Neither of us say anything. She eventually turns back to the still beaming headlights and signals with her index finger ‘Hold on, one second.’
She’s wearing a crimson red dress which parades down to her shins. Her hair rests complacently. Two streaks on each shoulder, the rest down her back. She looks elegant. She looks amazing. Her shimmering bright blue eyes stare past me.
Alluringly. Apathetically. She isn’t looking at me. Her mind is elsewhere.
A few more seconds pass. Nothing is said. In an act of hopelessness, I slowly stroll away, hands dug in pockets.
I turn around.
She rushes into her house. 3 or so minutes pass but she doesn’t come back. I decide to retreat back to my home.
And then… Well, I can’t remember how it all happened, but…
Next thing I know, she was there. I was there. On my bedroom floor. Her legs are crossed. We’d just finished a lengthy conversation about nothing in particular.
I think I exist now. When those blue eyes peer at my direction, I feel them rest upon mine. I feel the warmth her soul exerts.
We get close. Her hand on my shoulder. I look down. My face is sad. My soul is sad. I know the deal. She’s happy with a new partner. I don’t know why she’s here. I don’t know why. She gets closer.
I wish. I hope. And I wish some more.
I don’t know what I’m doing, or why. My left hand pilgrimages towards her pale, gentle face. I recognise the touch. The feel of her skin. My hand, irrespective of consciousness, saunters down her neck and pulls her head close.
One thing leads to another. Our hands and lips and tongues disobediently join and explore and fondle across each other’s bodies. Another thing leads to even yet another.
I love her with every fibre of compassion my soul possesses. I grope her. I caress, I feel her. We connect. Euphorically. Senselessly, tenderly. We connect. Our bodies and souls entwine.
From above and within her, I whisper. Softly. Something unclear. Something incomplete.
She tells me she loves me.
A Howl’s Moving Castle theme ceremonially meanders into my head. “Carrying You”, I believe it’s called.
Like a river. We make love. We make song. We make poetry. Every thrust, every note, every line oozes with an electrifying, ecstatic affection.
The song booms in my head relentlessly.
I stop for a moment. I look into her exquisite eyes. I watch her below me. I try to tell her I love her. I need her.
I wake up. The dull reality marches itself back into its rightful state of actuality. She’s no longer here. She was never here.
The sheets are cold. My numb heart heaves a bitter sigh.
The harsh but aqueous, chimerical lucidity of a dream.