Unrequited Love.

I saw scribbling on black walls, love poems, dedicated to boys she did not know and boys that were not me. I surveyed this new terra-firma, the constructions of a battered soul and a pristine spirit. Her escape, I imagined from an imperfect world and a Jurassic society. She was all that is and was divine; devoid of blemish and impurity. Everywhere she went, she left little pieces of kaleidoscopic rainbows, for the lucky observant children that went about. She was a rat in the middle ages, spreading the bubonic plague. I followed her home every day, at a distance, just to see that she got home safely, not that I could have been of any defense, should there have been any danger, but it helped me sleep better and keep the monsters under my bed at bay. I wanted to hold her hands, I wanted to trace the lines on her palms and then make my own, I wanted to feel her warmth, and just so I could tell the sun it was doing a terrible job. I wanted to read her Wordsworth Longfellow; I wanted to tell her that just like Dunbar, I knew why the caged birds sang. But I was an anachronism to her, an anomaly. And she was too tired to understand. I left, wearing brown stains of defeat and rejection, I had heard of the thing called love, in my opinion, love was just a nefarious child with no respect for boundaries, I wanted to kill it, then shake its cold body till a piece of its soul was smeared on myself. I sought punishment for my perfidious heart, and refuge from myself. Now, the monsters underneath my bed had free reign. They went about in the night wind, to and fro like mother’s laundry on the clothesline, taunting me. When it seemed that I had overcome my feminine perturbation, thoughts of her broke through the marble walls of my mind like a startled Jack-in-the-box, the poor thing. I and misery chatted the weeks away like long-time comrade-in-arms, most of our conversations bordering on market prices and loud Arabian music. My body ached, burdened with the everyday minutiae of iconoclastic life and loss of purpose, sleep came easy. I no longer stared into the night, crescent moons had lost their magic, and the stars flickered with age, showing grey hairs on their edges. When I heard news of her death, I cried, slow heavy tears "tears wrapped in hopes and moonlit benedictions. I laid them like flowers on her casket, they made holes in the dark mahogany. I thought of all the children, walking those cold streets searching for their own little rainbows and how they would go to bed and without anything to dream about. I thought of my heart, and how useless it was to me. life was farcical, and love had taken its misdemeanors somewhere else far away. I thought of the ageing stars and how they would converge later on; to form these words: ‘There are many heavens, and all of them were in her eyes.’

 

What’s your story?

Reviews

[.]

~ it takes a while to arrive at...

‘There are many heavens, and all of them were in her eyes.’

~ i had no idea of what happens during the journey to this realization about where heaven is... so... this piece is incredibly insightful... and gives me much food for thought...

~ i was abandoned but i don't think my life is tragic... yet i can accept that it must appear so to those who view it from the outside...

~ you do write very beautifully... your core can't be doubted... nor can your gift for words...

[Joshua Lean]

I am grateful indeed.Thank you.

[.]

~ my privilege...

[Baby Ricochet]

Okay. I actually read this and liked it. I liked the last part particularly. You really did convey the feeling of misery well. Great job

[Yasmin]

I am very sorry for being late.I have read this over and over again and every time I read this feels like the first time. There is something in it that grabs the readers attention from the beginning till the very end. I like this part the most:
"Everywhere she went, she left little pieces of kaleidoscopic rainbows, for the lucky observant children that went about. She was a rat in the middle ages, spreading the bubonic plague"
You write beautifully and it was a huge honor for me to read.
Well done
Can't wait to read more

[junaid altaf]

well mine is a very horrid one..........
but yours was enthrilling..............

[Jonathan Bruneau]

Amazing!!!!!!

[KAOlmsted]

O.O You need to delete this from this site right now and seek a publisher. (They won't touch it if it's already published on a site) This is better than good. A small tiny fraction of editing...and bob's your uncle. Bra-f*****g-vo. Dude. You did it with this piece. You went there. Delete it now and sell the f****r.

[Annabelle Lee]

I seriously thought your main man to be a bit on the creepier side toward the front end of this story. I, being me, would not like to know that someone was following me around. No matter their purpose. I enjoy my privacy. But it's apparent that his passion for her was over floqing his heart. Almost to the point if an intense pain. An the sadness.when she died was easily recognizable. Great job.

[Richard Man]

I fell madly in love with one of my sister's friends... she was sixteen, I , fourteen... a hopeless scenario.... I would've done anything for her... and probably she would have
enjoyed being me being her puppy...had she known.
Your unrequitedness is a lot, lot deeper than my crush.

[Richard Man]

And then she did discover my infatuation... what a come down! When I realised what an idiotic fantasist I had been... caused me to continue my delusions in as much as I wrote this poem in french... how pretentious! But still it rolls off the tongue reasonably well and I remember it 47 years later....
L'amour est mort,
Le coeur supplie pour la délivrance,
La douloureuse extace devient amère
Et je suis laissé solitaire"

(Love is dead, the heart cries out for deliverance, the painful ecstacy turns bitter and I am left alone....ahhh)

[Joshua Lean]

Haha. Fantasist! Thank you, for sharing.

[.]

Even the Buddha has to die. Many times...

a heartfelt piece, Joshua.
well done!

[Joshua Lean]

Merci! Merci!

[Rosa Carlyle-Mitchell]

I like the indisputable truth of this. A lot of similar ideas can seem prescribed, but I found yours very moving actually. Well done.

[Joshua Lean]

Thank you!