Filed under: Blogroll, Dreams, Happiness, Life, Love, Moments, Stories, Thoughts, weirdness
And he said, “Please, let’s not ruin this moment with words you know won’t fulfill. Let’s just sit here, and embrace each other, reminiscing about the things we once were, and remember what we’ve become.”
“I like what I’ve become. I like it that nothing in me matches. I love the way I make up words and feelings and ways to kiss you everyday. I enjoy the way I can write poems while we sit on the greenest grass breathing the freshest air. I like it all. Don’t you?”
As she said this, she turned to him, waiting for his sweet reply. He was staring deep into the clouds, trying to decipher one of the beautiful cotton balls.
“It’s a heart, you know, that cloud right in front of us,” he responded while pointing at the cloud. Then he ripped a piece of grass from mother earth and smelled it, inhaling its utter freshness.
“Is that really all you are able to say?” she said, disappointed. She was actually waiting for him to profess his love to her. Little did she know that he wasn’t a guy of words, but of actions. Still, she was a girl of words, and she needed to listen to those precious words come out from his lips.
“Haven’t I given you enough? Haven’t I brought down the moon and the stars from above each night to accompany you while you lay in bed without me? Haven’t I ripped my heart out from a stable and healthy environment only to lay it on your hands, not caring whether you’ll crush it or care for it with your own? Haven’t I given you all you’ve ever asked of me? Haven’t my actions been enough?”
He was standing up now, as he spoke with a very cold and striking tone. He never thought she would ask him for his words, his most precious keepsake. But she had, and now he was devastated.
And as he stood up, her eyes were filling up with tears that cut deep into her skin when spilled. She was so much more devastated than he was, and she was trying to let him know, trying to make him heal her.
Then the first tear ran down the soft fields of red that inhabited her cheeks, cutting down deep into her soul. And he could feel it. He could feel how it cut her, because it was cutting him too, because when two people are truthfully as in love as them, they are able to feel each other’s pains, sorrows, and happiness as if it was their own.
So he ran to her with what little will was left in him, and as tears fell onto his cheeks, he kissed her, kissed her deeply.
“I love you… I love you! With actions and now with words. I’ve served you the only thing left in me on a silver platter, my words, so you can have. Because it’s true, the feeling is much stronger than words themselves! And you deserve them all, because you’ve been the product of this feeling. It’s all you. Thank you…”
And then her soul healed, as simple as that, with just words. Because some words are strong enough to heal when there’s love present in them.
Filed under: Blogroll, Happiness, Love, Purity, Realness, Stories, Thoughts | Tags: blog, esmeralda, he said she said, how much i love you, j, Life, Love, Sad, story, Thoughts, words
He was always late, and she was always early. Everywhere they went, no matter where it was, she would always be fifteen minutes early, and he would always be fifteen minutes late. But today was a weird day, and destiny had to commemorate that, which is why he got there too early, and she got there too late. Try an hour for each.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said, sitting on the chair opposite him, in that fancy restaurant he had made reservations to.
“It’s alright. Karma’s a bitch,” he responded, settling his hands on the table, looking up at her.
She took a sip of water, and then asked him, “What is it that you wanted to talk to me about?”
Then a very long, almost eternal, silence flooded the little space between them. As they both stared deep into each other’s eyes, their thoughts got lost. He was thinking, “She’s stunning. More like gorgeous. Actually, there just isn’t a word. I have to come up with one. There’s just so many things… So many things.” And she was thinking, “I can’t believe I got fooled into coming here. I wish I hadn’t gotten here on time. I just can’t believe I’ve attended my own death sentence. This is so me… so masochistic.”
But she snapped out of it first, like always, saying, “Please don’t make me wait just because you know I will.”
He closed his eyes, tilting his head down, trying to get ready for something big. Then he rose up his head, and rested his gaze on her amazing eyes, trying to figure out how to explain this. Then he said, “You see that couple over there, by the window? Do you see how he’s holding her hands, and how they’re staring right into their eyes without saying a single word? Those things help people like us assume they’re in love. Not the silly love some talk about. I’m talking about the real deal. And you see everyone in this room? And all the noise emerging from their plates and lips? Truth is, it’s not loud enough. Now, imagine the world, and its round and destroyed self, and all the trees around it. Imagine all the different people that inhabit it. Imagine all the cars, the ones we get on everyday to go to school, or work, or just to see someone we love. And imagine all the material things most people give value to… I hope you even imagine the ocean and its depth, now due to global warming. And all the unique types of species down there. And imagine the air… Because even if it’s invisible, it’s the one thing that could maybe, remotely, compare. And every inch of my body, and even every inch of yours… Or centimeters. However you like it. And each and every pint of blood in my body, pumping away, and meeting always in this heart of mine, the one that you stole… None of this is even a mile close to how much I love you…”
Filed under: Happiness, Love, Moments, Purity, Realness, Stories, Thoughts, music, weirdness | Tags: ben woods, blog, esmeralda, Happiness, inspirations, Life, Love, muse, music, Stories, Thoughts, words
“Does your leaving mean something?” she asked, tentatively. Her eyes were fixed on the ground, certain that he wouldn’t know what she was pertaining to.
“Maybe. I don’t know,” he responded, with his hands doubtfully stroking his hair, landing on the pockets of his denim jeans.
He surely didn’t know what she was thinking, nor did he know why she had asked him such thing. Yet there was something about her body language, and the way that her eyes couldn’t seem to meet his, that got him to think that she wasn’t talking about a permanent leave.
So he said to himself, wishing she would be able to listen, “You think you’re not special.”
She didn’t move at the sound of his voice. She just stood there, stagnant, as if waiting for something grand to happen, something that would take her worries away.
“Talk to me,” he demanded softly, after he saw that she wouldn’t reply to any of his comments.
Minutes passed by, and he felt his heart standing on a thread, as his palms were moist from the sweat they were emitting. But then her lovely voice broke the silence, as if an angel had descended to bring some news, whether good or bad.
“When you depart everyday, I play your songs. I play your sweet melodies over and over and over. They heal me. I miss you, but they heal me. As I’m listening to every beat, every rhythm, and every sound… I close my eyes, and suddenly you’re there, in front of me, smiling right into my eyes with your cherry lips, playing on all the tunes I’m listening to. And then, in the middle of your great symphony, you stand up, walking towards me, but the music never stops. It goes on, even after you stand right before me, taking my hands into yours. It plays on, even after your nose touches mine lightly, and our lips intertwine. And that’s when my eyes open, because it’s all a daydream, and you’re really not present. Still, my frown turns into a smile, because at least, for an infinitesimal period of time, I was able to have you there, close to me. This is what goes inside my head every time you leave.”
When she finished, she finally took the courage to look up into his dazzling, dark eyes, and saw that his face was turning purple. She had taken his breath away. She had managed to do the things he always did to her, him and his music.
And so with this, he took her into his arms, wishing he would never let go, because in that moment he had finally found his melody: her.
