A product of mental restlessness

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
A feeling of loss can be difficult to express. Here is an attempt.

Submitted: September 11, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 11, 2012



You're standing on a hill. Have you ever seen the White Cliffs of Dover? It's a cliff. Beneath you is the ocean. Roaring. But it's almost silent where you stand. A blanket of clover. It covers the hills. Like grass, only greener. Clover. We're in Ireland. And you're standing alone, on a hill. You're wearing a shawl. A brown shawl. You pull it around your shoulders because the wind is blowing. It's blowing fiercely, whisking away your hopes. Your dreams. As you stand over the ocean. Contemplating a fall, a jump. It wouldn't hurt. The falling. Like flying. Only faster. Faster and faster and faster. But then you'd be alone. Because you would leave me alone. We're one person in this dream. Only we aren't. Not really. And the wind howls and howls and howls. Howls like a banshee. A ban sidhe. Because every time I think of you, I think of death. Not my death. Your death. Not at my hands. Simply death. Because you're so rare. I think you'll die. You'll die and leave the world. Leave me. When the very soul defies the zeitgeist, of course the world hates you. I'm scared it will kill you. Then I'll be on the hill. Alone. Contemplating the fall. The jump. But for now, it's you. You're on the hill. Standing in the wind. With a shawl of all things. Why a shawl? I saw a movie once with a woman. A beautiful woman with long brown hair blown back by the wind as she stood on the edge of a cliff. She wore a shawl, a brown shawl. She looked nothing like you, but she was beautiful. And you are beautiful. Beautiful as Ireland. And your soul. Beyond compare. Beyond, beyond. So why are you alone? You like being alone. You drink your melancholy like a tonic. A dark, rich draught unlike any other. A glass of night and sorrow. All for you. I don't know how you stand it. I do not. Yet there you are. Standing in the wind. Beneath dark clouds looming overhead. A sea of darkness above and below. When it rains, and it will rain, the slanted lines will run from one sea to the other. You will be caught between. And you will laugh. I know it. Standing in the rain. Laughing defiantly. Because you love it. You love standing in the rain. So close to the raw power of sea and sky. No, that's why I love it. I don't know why you love it too. Some artistic reason, I'd wager. Something meaningful and symbolic. Meaning. Meaning means much to you, doesn't it. Something must as you stand alone, so far from me. I see you. I'm looking up at you from another hill. You're so far from me and yet I see you. I can discern your smile. Even at this distance. I see you and you're crazy. You are. In the most delightful, enchanting way. That's why you're standing alone in the wind on a cliff overlooking the sea. Alone. But not alone. Because in this dream, we're the same person. If you throw yourself off the cliff, you'll kill me as well. I won't follow you down to the ocean. But the strings around my heart will tear it from me. And I'll be alone. Without a heart. I'll watch it plunge into the dark waters after you. I might smile. But only because it's such a strange feeling. To be without a heart. To have a whole in the chest. And I'll be alone. Alone as I am as I see you from the distance. I want to call your name, but you won't hear me. Have you ever heard me? Sometimes I wonder. Do you hear what I say? Or what I mean? I wish that I could say what I mean. I wish that I could tell you. But there's a distance between us. As long and as far as the separation between these hills. We're a horizon away from each other. I do call your name. But my words are swept away. Swept away by the blowing wind. The wind that blows and howls like a banshee. The wind that threatens to tear your shawl away. Even from this distance, I can see that you're wearing a shawl. I've never seen you wear a shawl. It's as though you like the cold but you don't. Maybe it's the principle of the act. Defiance for defiance's sake. Not that it matters at the moment. You don't really care for the shawl. You would let the wind snatch it from your fingers. But it was a gift. A gift from me. Therefore, it has some small significance. Despite the fact that it isn't your style. Why wear a shawl? How unstylish.  But you don't care. Or maybe you do. Maybe you wish that you could let it fly away. Wish that you could forget. Forget and fall, jump, into the sea. Where the water would pull you down, down, down. Caress you with cold fingers. This is Ireland. And it's May. The sea is cold. Still in winter's grasp. It would caress you, then crush my heart as it plunged in after you. It's a lover and a vat of acid. The ocean. I can't see the ocean from where I stand. All that I see is you. I see you as you stand, alone, on the hill in a sea of clover. I love clover. I do. Like grass but greener. I fall into the clover. Fall on my knees after I've shouted your name. You can't hear me. You can't see me. I don't know what you see. The ocean? The sky? The rain that will fall like a crossfire? That's why I fall. This time, I have given up on the world. You can tell, because I lean forward. Not back, onto my back. Forward, onto my face. Where I can smell the clover and the earth. But I look up again. Because I can't take my eyes off you. Not for long. Even when all you're doing is standing there. In the rain. Because it is raining. And the rain falls in slanted lines. It's hard to tell if it's falling up or falling down. The sea, the sky. They touch, through the rain. It's their bridge. They reach each other from across a horizon. An unfathomable distance. I see you, but I can't touch you. I can't reach you. You're lost to me. But I follow you. Because we're the same person. In the dream. And as you fall, jump, my heart plunges after you. Into the ocean. Or is it the sky? And the wind howls like a banshee. Heralding your death. My death. And I watch you. But I can't feel you. I smile. Because it's so strange. To be without a heart.

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