Just a short ficlet, a one-shot. Stream of consciousness thoughts.
LONELY
By Raven Pan
So alone, anymore. So alone. It's a wonder I even have a vocabulary anymore. A wonder I haven't forgotten how to speak. Simple words, nonsense words... mostly only sounds pass through my lips, and even then only rarely.
It's a wonder my vocabulary hasn't disappeared on me. If it weren't for writing, perhaps it would have.
I don't want to be alone. It hurts. He's always gone, always at work. And I am left home. Alone.
Always alone.
I don't want to deny him. And evenings are even less compatable than the daylight hours are. If I'm not gone, he's gone... and the rare nights we have together are often cut off by one thing or another.
Sometimes he doesn't come home until I'm already abed.
He's always gone before I wake, every morning - and he goes to bed long before I do at night.
I might get three hours from him, but undivided attention is almost an impossible commodity.
Unless I try to force him to pay attention to me, which rarely ends well.
I'm lonely.
The silence... sometimes I feel that it's deafening, I can hear so much, and yet there's nothing.
Silence.
A blank page.
And myself.
My thoughts... pour out like so much nonsense, it's pathetic. Maybe that's why... why I'm alone.
He says he loves me, and I know he believes he does. And I love him. And there are times when I know we're connecting... but they're so few, so far between.
It's almost enough to make me want to take off my mask for a little while, and cry like the hurt child I feel I am inside.
But I can't do that... because then I'll never stop, an ocean will form and I'll drown in my own tears, my own sorrow.
Maybe that's what they mean by drowning in your own sorrow.
He has no idea either, I mean, he's totally clueless. He thinks there's nothing wrong, he has no idea how it tears into my heart each and every time he says he's going to be late. That there's something he needs to do.
I bet he has no idea how much it hurts me, or how many of my childish smiles, laughs, or antics, are an act. An attempt to show nothing bothers me, all is right with the world. I'm still the innocent person I was when we fell in love with eachother so long ago.
Aren't I?
Lonely.
I'm tired of being lonely. The act is begining to wear thin, and I find myself slipping occasionally, anymore. I don't want to, but it happens. I need to work harder to keep it intact.
He can't know.
I don't want him to know how much he hurts me, because to hurt me is like the unforgivable sin to him.
So, maybe, after all - it's not his fault. It's mine.
Sue me for wanting perfection.
Or a movie.
Or a dinner.
Or... even just takeout.
Sue me for just wanting his arms around me after a long day, where I've been constantly jumping between grief, fear, emptiness...
Yeah, there's a lot of that. Emptiness.
Maybe that's why I feel so lonely? Because there's nothing within, to keep me company?
Or maybe... I've been deceiving everyone else for so long, I've begun to deceive myself.
Maybe I don't know what I want anymore. What I need. What I feel.
Who I am.
I'm nothing... nobody. A shoulder to cry on, hands that make meals.
Nothing more.
Just... Lonely.
God, I sound so pathetic - like one of those moaning songs all the teenagers listen to while lamenting their existance.
Ever been in a room full of people, of smiles. People you know and who know you, and you love, and suppose that they love you? Ever been in a room full of people... and be completely, ineffably alone?
So alone you feel as though there's a wall built up around you, that even if you wanted them to, nobody could break through.
Walls are nice. They're like masks, they protect other people from who you really are.
Which is a good thing, when the wall shows happiness, joy, bouncy antics and energy to spare.
It's a good wall, because there's nothing behind it but tears.
I will not shed those tears. Tears have a lot of power. They can erode those walls - and let people see just what an ugly person you really are. Filled with hate, sorrow, and nothingness. It is a protective measure, building walls.
Protective of them, because you never want to hurt them.
So you stay alone.
Like me. But even if we wanted to, we could never be alone together - because... I am you, and you are me.
There is no we.
Only myself. Only me.
Lonely.
"I'm home!"
"I'm in the study, I'll start supper in a moment!"
"Nah, don't worry about it - I've got another meeting for Capsule Corp in twenty minutes, I just came to quick drop off some files - I'll see you tonight - Okay?!"
"No problem!"
There are footsteps.
The door closes.
And there are tears.
Owari
The End
Please Review.
LONELY
By Raven Pan
So alone, anymore. So alone. It's a wonder I even have a vocabulary anymore. A wonder I haven't forgotten how to speak. Simple words, nonsense words... mostly only sounds pass through my lips, and even then only rarely.
It's a wonder my vocabulary hasn't disappeared on me. If it weren't for writing, perhaps it would have.
I don't want to be alone. It hurts. He's always gone, always at work. And I am left home. Alone.
Always alone.
I don't want to deny him. And evenings are even less compatable than the daylight hours are. If I'm not gone, he's gone... and the rare nights we have together are often cut off by one thing or another.
Sometimes he doesn't come home until I'm already abed.
He's always gone before I wake, every morning - and he goes to bed long before I do at night.
I might get three hours from him, but undivided attention is almost an impossible commodity.
Unless I try to force him to pay attention to me, which rarely ends well.
I'm lonely.
The silence... sometimes I feel that it's deafening, I can hear so much, and yet there's nothing.
Silence.
A blank page.
And myself.
My thoughts... pour out like so much nonsense, it's pathetic. Maybe that's why... why I'm alone.
He says he loves me, and I know he believes he does. And I love him. And there are times when I know we're connecting... but they're so few, so far between.
It's almost enough to make me want to take off my mask for a little while, and cry like the hurt child I feel I am inside.
But I can't do that... because then I'll never stop, an ocean will form and I'll drown in my own tears, my own sorrow.
Maybe that's what they mean by drowning in your own sorrow.
He has no idea either, I mean, he's totally clueless. He thinks there's nothing wrong, he has no idea how it tears into my heart each and every time he says he's going to be late. That there's something he needs to do.
I bet he has no idea how much it hurts me, or how many of my childish smiles, laughs, or antics, are an act. An attempt to show nothing bothers me, all is right with the world. I'm still the innocent person I was when we fell in love with eachother so long ago.
Aren't I?
Lonely.
I'm tired of being lonely. The act is begining to wear thin, and I find myself slipping occasionally, anymore. I don't want to, but it happens. I need to work harder to keep it intact.
He can't know.
I don't want him to know how much he hurts me, because to hurt me is like the unforgivable sin to him.
So, maybe, after all - it's not his fault. It's mine.
Sue me for wanting perfection.
Or a movie.
Or a dinner.
Or... even just takeout.
Sue me for just wanting his arms around me after a long day, where I've been constantly jumping between grief, fear, emptiness...
Yeah, there's a lot of that. Emptiness.
Maybe that's why I feel so lonely? Because there's nothing within, to keep me company?
Or maybe... I've been deceiving everyone else for so long, I've begun to deceive myself.
Maybe I don't know what I want anymore. What I need. What I feel.
Who I am.
I'm nothing... nobody. A shoulder to cry on, hands that make meals.
Nothing more.
Just... Lonely.
God, I sound so pathetic - like one of those moaning songs all the teenagers listen to while lamenting their existance.
Ever been in a room full of people, of smiles. People you know and who know you, and you love, and suppose that they love you? Ever been in a room full of people... and be completely, ineffably alone?
So alone you feel as though there's a wall built up around you, that even if you wanted them to, nobody could break through.
Walls are nice. They're like masks, they protect other people from who you really are.
Which is a good thing, when the wall shows happiness, joy, bouncy antics and energy to spare.
It's a good wall, because there's nothing behind it but tears.
I will not shed those tears. Tears have a lot of power. They can erode those walls - and let people see just what an ugly person you really are. Filled with hate, sorrow, and nothingness. It is a protective measure, building walls.
Protective of them, because you never want to hurt them.
So you stay alone.
Like me. But even if we wanted to, we could never be alone together - because... I am you, and you are me.
There is no we.
Only myself. Only me.
Lonely.
"I'm home!"
"I'm in the study, I'll start supper in a moment!"
"Nah, don't worry about it - I've got another meeting for Capsule Corp in twenty minutes, I just came to quick drop off some files - I'll see you tonight - Okay?!"
"No problem!"
There are footsteps.
The door closes.
And there are tears.
Owari
The End
Please Review.