Category: Writers Block
Okay, this is sort of autobiographical, but it is me about ten or so years ago. Mostly, it is just an exercise in writing out certain feelings, that while mostly resolved, still need a creative outlet that I've been afraid to give them in the past.
The thoughts crowded his mind like a lunchtime throng on a city sidewalk. He lit the Sherman’s Havana Oval he held between his lips and took a drag. He needed to calm down, somehow…just needed to calm down.
“Ha! Easier said than done.” He thought. His confusion over her swirled around him like storm clouds surrounding the upper floors of a skyscraper. He had tried for so long…so very long to convince himself that she was just a friend. The inward tug on his heart at the mere thought of her gave the lie to this idea. He wanted it to be that simple, that neat. He didn’t want the emotional complications involved in wanting her, desiring her and loving her the way he did. He wasn’t that fortunate, however. He was immersed in his feelings for her like someone wearing a bath robe two sizes too big for them. Yet, he knew better than to deride himself for it. Getting on his own case for getting this emotionally mired down was akin to cussing himself out for purposefully stepping into quicksand, knowing full well he would sink. His love for her reigned over him, and he sunk into the pain and despair of not having her.
But, it was her choice! That was the maddening part. She had skated back and forth over the line between friendship and more enough to leave him with permanent scars of confusion, hurt, and sullenness.
He had grown tired of asking why, though. Of course, that didn’t mean he had asked her, specifically. The question had just gone up to the sky, moon and stars at night, and not to the person who could answer it. Well,, the truth was, he almost didn’t need to ask. He had worn his feelings on his sleeve, and said sleeve may as well have been rolled up for all the acknowledgement she seemed to give those feelings.
He stopped, flicked the ashes off the Havana Oval, cussed at himself for allowing his train of thought to go down this track, and kept walking.
“Ah, that’s just it!” He told himself as he walked, “It’s no good trying to exorcize her from your mind. Won’t work, and you know it. She’s inside you like the blood in your veins or the air in your lungs.”
Why, exactly, was that? That was the big question. She made it obvious she couldn’t let herself feel the same feelings. He sensed something about doing so scared her, and she just wasn’t willing to let that show, or be known to him. That should have given him reason to wonder about the wisdom and sanity of holding a torch that burned so hot and so brightly for her, but it didn’t. His love was like an out of control locomotive on the downward side of a mountain pass. It was building speed and momentum rather than slowing and pacing itself.
“Choices, we all have choices.” His inner philosopher reminded him. He wanted to slap his inner philosopher. He knew it was a choice…or should be, but he couldn’t control this one thing about who he was. He loved her and probably always would. This love and memories of her long ago combined and formed into a ghostly tornado whirling about in his head and heart. All the storm chasers in the world, he thought, could never track down and tame this elusive prey.
Shaking his head stubbornly, he took one last drag from the Havana Oval. “Nope, you just have to do it. You have to let her go, it’s just that simple. You’ve planted those seeds of love before. They died before they could sprout…every time you tried. Just give it up. You’re done.” He said. He tossed the butt of the Havana Oval into a puddle in the gutter, and the cigarette sizzled with a sound that carried a finality with it. It was rather, he thought, like a death rattle. How fitting. He wanted to believe it was final; that he had let go. Deep down, though, he knew it would all come back and hit him again like some insane boomerang. With a resigned sigh, he muttered, “Unrequieted love sucks!” and continued walking down the street.
This is good. It reminds me of all the times I've been in love, or thought I was in love, but the feelings weren't returned.
wow, that's good, short though.
Very evocative. There's a lot of analogies here, and I think some of them are a bit clunky. The bathrobe and the plummeting train, just seem a bit awkward to me.
I like slapping the inner philosopher, and love as an insane boomerang, at the end there, is a brilliant image. The guttering cigarette is perfect, it seems inevitable, but it book-ends the whole thing nicely. All wrapped up in the smoking of a single cigarette.
One tiny, spelling niggle. Unrequited, not unrequieted. I don't mean to be pedantic, but it does throw you out of the flow a bit, especially when using a screen-reader.
Wow. I like this. It expresses so much feeling. The reader gets a good idea of the feelings and expressions that are portrayed here.
I am also going to add my positive praises to this short piece. Excellent work.
Thanks, Everyone, and no, Erin/Resident, you weren't too harsh. *SMILE*
Wow, that's really good, and sad as well.
i'd have to disagree, though, about the bath robe and train. I liked those comparisons very much. They're not your typical "as white as the moon" kind of thing, and they're not very cliche, which I like. Furthermore, by using these rather simple comprisons, you've given life and body to this character. From reading this, albeit rather shot but sweet, sample of your writing, i've already arrived at the conclusion that your character is normal, very down-to-Earth, nad just typical, not Shakespearean, heroic, or Greek tragedy material.
Keep posting!