Story: Whisper
this repetition will keep me alive.
Part I.
Journal
4:38 AM. 10 July, 2002
It comes and goes like the tide.
In the quiet times I hear a soft whispering. Bits of song, and even faint breathing: past tense. I am not afraid.
Otherwise I stay busy, keep my mind occupied. Now and then as I wander through the day, I will find the occasional ray of sunlight. But as often as I remind myself of this, it offers little comfort.
Still a few hours before the sunlight.
The days go on.
My last words to him were frigid and unconcerned. If I would have known they would be my last words, I would have spoken softly. I would have held him close.
If I had known, I would not have let him leave.
7:02 AM. 12 July, 2002
There used to be something about the cereal. And the couch. Something special...
Yes.
We used to eat it out of the box. Saturday mornings. Cartoons. Cereal out of the box.
It had a taste back then, too. I don't remember anymore. It's a vehicle for nutrients. If I don't eat, I'll starve. I rarely argue with logic. Milk and cereal. This repetition, I suppose, will keep me alive. But maybe I'd rather not...
The days go on.
11:34 AM. 28 July, 2002
It becomes more difficult. Advertisement: Cute, sexy singles are waiting for me. I start thinking. Somewhere in the back of my mind: people think a) love is a feeling, b) love is a marketing tool. And those that know better go about their lives. But even then, how many take it for granted?
How many don't?
A cute, sexy single on TV barely scratches the surface, as today's attempt at distracting myself fails miserably again.
The days go on.
10:25 PM. Aug 1, 2002
It's in the air now. Once I could say that I did not dream during the day. Things have changed. The stars collide when I close my eyes. The sun falls from the sky. Voices.
I open my eyes.
Numb.
6:15 PM. 9 Aug, 2002
I can't leave. There's nothing I can do to block out these memories. I can do nothing. A certain word. The brakelights of a car on my street. The sound of soft music in another room. A piano. The evening sun slanting through the window. I'm lost in these, until I can get out again into a sea of distraction.
I'll go out for a while.
He is not there, but the sky is the same.
As I wait in the intersection, I close my eyes. Tires scream at pavement. Flying glass. Momentum. A simple physics equation briefly comes to mind, but a noise from behind me peirces that thought. A car horn. Green light. Go.
Part of him is left on the road, along with my heart.
Part I.
Journal
4:38 AM. 10 July, 2002
It comes and goes like the tide.
In the quiet times I hear a soft whispering. Bits of song, and even faint breathing: past tense. I am not afraid.
Otherwise I stay busy, keep my mind occupied. Now and then as I wander through the day, I will find the occasional ray of sunlight. But as often as I remind myself of this, it offers little comfort.
Still a few hours before the sunlight.
The days go on.
My last words to him were frigid and unconcerned. If I would have known they would be my last words, I would have spoken softly. I would have held him close.
If I had known, I would not have let him leave.
7:02 AM. 12 July, 2002
There used to be something about the cereal. And the couch. Something special...
Yes.
We used to eat it out of the box. Saturday mornings. Cartoons. Cereal out of the box.
It had a taste back then, too. I don't remember anymore. It's a vehicle for nutrients. If I don't eat, I'll starve. I rarely argue with logic. Milk and cereal. This repetition, I suppose, will keep me alive. But maybe I'd rather not...
The days go on.
11:34 AM. 28 July, 2002
It becomes more difficult. Advertisement: Cute, sexy singles are waiting for me. I start thinking. Somewhere in the back of my mind: people think a) love is a feeling, b) love is a marketing tool. And those that know better go about their lives. But even then, how many take it for granted?
How many don't?
A cute, sexy single on TV barely scratches the surface, as today's attempt at distracting myself fails miserably again.
The days go on.
10:25 PM. Aug 1, 2002
It's in the air now. Once I could say that I did not dream during the day. Things have changed. The stars collide when I close my eyes. The sun falls from the sky. Voices.
I open my eyes.
Numb.
6:15 PM. 9 Aug, 2002
I can't leave. There's nothing I can do to block out these memories. I can do nothing. A certain word. The brakelights of a car on my street. The sound of soft music in another room. A piano. The evening sun slanting through the window. I'm lost in these, until I can get out again into a sea of distraction.
I'll go out for a while.
He is not there, but the sky is the same.
As I wait in the intersection, I close my eyes. Tires scream at pavement. Flying glass. Momentum. A simple physics equation briefly comes to mind, but a noise from behind me peirces that thought. A car horn. Green light. Go.
Part of him is left on the road, along with my heart.
posted by ~Allie~ @ 7:58 PM
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