I own not these words or the worlds they create, for they are merely devices I use to sort out the musings of my tortured mind & imagination. All I can claim possession of is the prison in which these words are confined to.
-Disclaimer-
Different Stars – Trespassers William
So I will hum alone, too far from you
All that I say now is nothing to you
We will lie under different stars
I am where I am, and you're where you are
You're where you are
-Inuyasha-
It's a simple melody that flows through my veins. Away from my heart, away from the pain. That's the aim, anyways. But the word can only heal so much. It still leaves scars. It still rips my chest open every time I hear it. It still makes me cry.
And the sky is black tonight. Like it's never been before. Probably because I know you can't see it. After all, you can't see the stars if you're one of them. How does it feel to be cloaked by an inky darkness, unable to be seen when the sun shines? Is it lonely? Does it hurt? Hurt to know that from here, where I stand, we can never reach?
I found Polaris last night, in my search of you. Fell asleep under her soft light. And then she sent me dreaming. Dreaming of a day we never met, dreaming of a time when I was free. Free from your presence. Free from the hold that you constantly have on me, even when you're so far away.
Do you ever dream? Dream of the day we first locked eyes, gazes caught in each other's shadows as we lay on the ground? I remember it was raining, yet the sun still peeked through the clouds. A sun-shower. The perfect compliment between rain and shine.
You really wanted that cab. Seems I wanted it more. Never has anyone ever jumped in front of a cab that I have stolen from them. That's the kind of thing people do in the movies. But this was reality. You were my reality. With your hair tangling in the wind, your broken heel making you appear lopsided, and the rain plastering your white blouse to your chest, I don't think I've ever seen anything so beautiful.
The look that you had on your face is still haunting. That icy glint in your grey irises, the deep red of your lips as you fashioned them into a scowl, the slight shiver of your body as the rain poured down harder. So hauntingly stunning.
You ran in front of that cab, stuck your foot in front of the bumper and stood there head held high, while thunder boomed in the background. Or at least it became the background. Because it was that moment, when you became the focal point. The focal point in the painting which even now is etched upon the inside of my eyelids. My focal point.
It's amazing how we ever got your heel out of the cab's bumper. Afterwards, we even joked about it.
"I was on my way to the airport to pick up my sister." You told me, laughter in your eyes. "And you know what a stickler she is for punctuality."
Punctuality. The act of arriving or taking place at an arranged time. You always were punctual. Perhaps too punctual. Because look at us now. Look at what your obsession with being on time has done to us.
It's made us slaves. Slaves to our own mortality, with time being an instrument we use torture ourselves as we wait. It changed our times so you became early. Far too early, compared to my own lateness. And I was late in every sense.
Sometimes I wish we'd never met. Just like in my dream. But then I remember. I remember your face. I remember the look in your eyes as we fell to the ground after giving your heel one last yank, the cab driver's heavy Russian accent yelling into his cell-phone fading into the background. It was hope. And as we hit the ground, the heel tumbled on the concrete in between us, and we both grabbed for it. And we stared at that shoe, that stupid shoe, for a moment, before finally seeing our shadows intertwined on the pavement. And then we looked up at each other. And you smiled at me. That is until you realized I had stolen your cab, then your scowl slid back on and you let me have it. And I took it. Because I had just been given proof that there was such a thing as love at first sight.
Except, as I calmed you down and you offered to share the cab with me, I didn't realize what the price would be. I didn't think that we would ever get to this point, where you would leave and I'd be left behind. I didn't think of any of that at all. My mind was too full of you.
And so yeah, sometimes I wish we'd never met. Because the pain is overwhelming at times. It gets to be too much. And then I'm left with the task of finding release. Sometimes it's drugs. Often it's alcohol. Recently it's the balcony to my apartment. There's an odd sense of freedom you get when you stand on the edge; halfway on the concrete, halfway on air, and that thin line of pure edge, where everything becomes hazy.
Sometimes, when I'm making wishes, I think about what we could've had. What we wanted. What we planned on getting. Usually I make these wishes on Polaris. She seems to know that I need them. Seems to feel my pain. She sings to me sometimes, always the same song. The same desolate song, with lyrics that I locked inside my head, ever since you left. She always uses your voice too.
And when I'm standing on the edge, I can hear her, no, you, with perfect clarity. And your voice lulls me to sleep. Sometimes it calls out to me, tempting me, caressing me, trying to get me to step off the ledge. And though I've reached out too many times to count, I can never find the strength to grasp the hand you've offered me.
Often I wonder why I write these thoughts down. Little letters from my mind to yours. I know you'll never get the chance to read them. You'll never get the chance to hold the paper and breathe in the subtle scent of a blank page. And I'll never get the chance to hear you say my name again.
But what kills me the most is that you can't see the stars right now. And that I can't see you.
A/N: Awaiting reviews.