Whispers were her only friend. Whispers came to her every time she slept, begging her to wake up. Whispers came to her every time she woke up, pushed her out of bed. Whispers came to her every time she got up, driving her blindly to the window. Whispers were her only friend. Whispers only came to her, and only she obeyed them. She never understood the reasons that dragged her to the window. To stand still, contemplate the outside, focus on that window in the house facing hers.
That window was the center of her attention. The center of her attraction. The shelter of her buzzing thoughts. And, the destiny of her traveling sight. Away from that window, loneliness manipulated her, drove her back to stand still and contemplate that window. It was the feeling of someone on the other side, standing still, contemplating her window. It was the feeling of someone on the other side that mesmerized her thoughts, her feelings, and her heart.
No… No, no… It was not the window. It was that dark slide that captured her breaths. Hope lied there. Hope hid there. She was never lonely while invading that darkness with her eyes. It was hope that gave strength to her perishing heart. That slightly open window was the reason of her survival. One day, the last piece of her puzzled heart will take its place. Whoever was there, whoever hid behind that darkness was the reason of her whispers, the reason of her circulated life, and the reason of her moments going by.
She must not surrender. She must not let desperation grow in her heart. She must not strangle her life with a rope, connecting her to that window, to that darkness, and maybe to that fading away hope. And she must not… fade away.
I will put my hand on this pillow, lay my cheek on that hand, grab my knees closer to my chest, and try falling asleep.
Something is wrong with my bed. Your smell laid no more on my pillow, your fingers swayed no more on my forehead, and your breath traveled no more on my chest. And something is wrong with my room. My stairs drummed no more with your steps, my door trembled no more with your dancing fingers, and my walls echoed no more with your laugh. And something is wrong with me. Your frown faced no more my jokes, your fingers trembled no more in my hand, and your gaze met no more my eyes.
So I close my eyes, squeeze them to see you there, between them and their lids. I calm down, to find your smile hanging on my curtains. I turn around to confront your shining eyes in the darkness. And there you are, sitting in the corner of my heart, unrevealing yourself until its the right time.
And there my eyes relax, my body surrenders, sleep must be on the way. My eyes are heavy, the voices from outside are gone. And then I open my eyes, my body tightens, I hear your voice, I hear your calling. I call you back, I’m here, I’m Here, where are you? There is my hand reaching out to you, there is your voice fading away, there are your steps thundering away.
I open my eyes again, the pillow is wet, the bed is empty, the room is dark, and I am all alone. I close my eyes again, I squeeze harder, I search for you again, but you are gone. Did you knock and I didn’t hear it? I jump out of my bed, open the door, and its just that empty dark alley, with that broken lamp. I should have fixed that lamp, maybe darkness made you change your mind, maybe you are down there waiting for me. I run the stairs down, pop up in the street, and there it is empty. My tears are falling, I have to get back. I will not stop crying, maybe my tears will lead you to me if you forgot where my house is.
I will stay awake, I will watch the road, maybe you will come from that end, and with you sunrise will come. I will stay awake and wait.
It was after midnight when sleep suddenly fled out of his eyes. It was after that when he traveled all over his bed to find the perfect spot where sleep resided. It was then when he surrendered to the urge of going up and writing. He must write the guilt and shame out of his heart. He squeezed his eyes one last time; maybe sleep will get in and finally rest. But, all was in vain, and he must explain.
Grabbing the papers and the pen resting on them was a hard decision to make. But the remorse storming inside of him must be sent away. If he is going to write, how should he address her? Dear Beloved? She was never a beloved. She didn’t take his breath away. She didn’t make his heart beat faster. In fact, she almost slowed it down, he thought.
Dear friend? The plan was to fall in love. He wanted her to be the one that will fit in that empty frame carried in his heart, he thought.
No, she was not the one. But yet, she turned his life upside down. The memories of all who came before her bumped in his head. To leave him, they were always right. And by them, he was always left. Why did this one stay? Was she that desperate? Or, was he that good? Oh, yes, he remembers. He was that good. Good in lies that is. Pretending to be perfect, claiming morals he never had before, and radiating the honor he always desired. He didn’t break her heart for her sake. No, he remembers now, it was for his sake. But breaking her was breaking his pride, was crashing his ego, and was turning him from the usual victim into the perfect slayer. And for that, he must not ignite the flame he put out. He must not break her again.
He must go back to sleep, and find the lost peace that he had once before.