To go where it all started.
To go alone
guarded
by nothing
but hope
hope of finding her again…
no hand to hold your hand
no one to confirm your fears
to tell you not to look back
to gently wipe the tears
while your insides get shattered
along the way…
“tell me your name again?”
the soft music was not tender,
it was quite
like soundless blades
running through your veins.
no one hears the pain
when we cry no more
“All we always wanted was a couple of drinks, and a long night ahead of us.” we thought while leaving the house that night.
“was it too much to ask?”
like a weary piano bar singer at two in the morning, she cooed her words in the receiver “to go where it all started”.
no answer.
“hello?”
no answer.
“was it something I said?”
questions about life. disillusioned lovers. internet connection. meaningless dates. meaningless sex. leftovers. stale coffee and overflowing ashtrays. some music put on repeat. distance. vague memories of happier times. busy lives without a pause. familiar faces that take your breath away. snowy roads. age, aging and beauty. shadows of the past.
How far do you have to move on until you feel you have a past?
No one hears the pain when we don’t cry anymore.
Like billions with me, I partake in the silent melancholic psyche of the world.
We see each other everyday, everywhere.
We share that quiet understanding look and sometimes an irresistible smile that devastates your very soul with this inexplicable feeling of ‘home’.
A smile that an old woman on the subway gives you, knowing too well who you are, knowing too well that you are part of her world… a sturdy peon in her fleet of sadness.
and one day you will return her smile with infinite gratitude, declaring your eternal servitude to her majestic sorrow.
but not today. today… you smile for me.
