Bloody And Reaching
You know, I really can't be bothered to write new stories at the moment. I'm having a one-shot and poetry craze at the mo, so that's why most of my new stuff on here is poems.
It's stupidly easy to guess who this is about. Hope you like it.
How can you love someone that doesn't exist? Well, I do. Don't ask me how, but I do. I can't even remember when it started – I guess the feeling was always there.
I would sit and think. Think about him. I don't know who he is or what he looks like but I knew with all my heart that he loves me too.
We would be forever looking into the night – searching for a glance of each other, long since forgetting what each other looked like. Except I don't really believe that. I know he's looking for me with urgency, because he remembers me.
Am I insane? Most probably. But a country girl like me can't help but hope. I spend days dreaming about him – trying to conjure up any image of him in my mind. I don't even know why I love him, except I know that if he ever steps out of line I will forgive him wholeheartedly.
And soon the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, slowly bit by bit, and I began to remember why I love him. Because… he's beautiful, good-natured, courageous and strong. He shines with a brighter light and looks almost like an angel. He's clever and mysterious and everything I want to be. Everything I want to know.
Somewhere out there, he's looking for me. But, on my part, there are chains holding me down. The world is too vast to search for something that's a distant memory. No, not something. Someone.
His name… I wonder what it is. I spend hours trying to think of it. But no. A blank.
When I think about, I wonder why we love each other. We've never met. Or have we? This always leads me to a dead-end, but I like to think that some day we did. I like to think like that even if I know it's not true.
I shut my eyes and prepare to dream. Except the last time I dreamt, I wrote a note. A note to myself. But I'm sure I didn't write it myself. Maybe it was my subconscious mind – sleep-writing.
I don't understand what I wrote. It told me something about rivers. I don't remember dreaming about water. I remember dreaming about him.
I sigh, dramatically, and fall back on my bed. I love someone that doesn't exist. How can you love someone that you probably conjured up out of thin air? He doesn't exist, not really.
I answer the snappy voice in my head. Because if he didn't exist, he wouldn't have a name. But I reason with myself. If you can't remember his name, how can he have a name?
This is an illusion and I'm hurting myself in the process. I'm not going anywhere, locking myself inside my own mind and throwing away the key.
If he exists, he'd have found you by now. He'd be with you like he promised. He was supposed to be there.
I curl myself up into a ball and rest my head on my knees. That's right. And if he doesn't find me… what's left there to do?
He'll hurt you. Just like he did before. He'll be the death of you.
But I want to see him. I love him. I don't care what he does, so long as I see him.
The sharp voice in my head dies down – the voice of reason. I couldn't care. Wouldn't care.
I reach out with my palm in the direction of the window. My hands are bleeding where I've torn out my heart. My eyes are wide, my breathing comes fast. I want to see him… I need to see him… I can't bear to be without him.
Blood drips onto my bed. Except it's not real. It's another illusion. Inside I'm torn and dying. Outside, I'm perfectly fine.
But if I have to spend one more year without him – I swear I couldn't live. Not for the world.
There's a thud in my chest, as if my heart's trying to break free from its cage. I swallow thickly and try to call for help. Instead I'm calling for him. He has no name. He has no face. But he'll save me. I know he will.
I'm calling for him. Crying with tears I can't withhold. I pray that this is a dream and I'll wake up to see him by my side. But that couldn't happen. He has so much to do – so many more places to look. He doesn't know where to find me…
Buried alive in these feelings that don't add up. I cannot see his face. I cannot hear his voice. I cannot speak his name.
My hands are bloody and reaching. Reaching for eternity, for a hand to hold my own. For his hand. Looking to caress his face, to run fingers through fine, golden hair. Ready to pull him down and kiss.
To break a never-ending cycle that cannot come undone.
I'm gasping for breath. The least we can do is try. Especially when all I want is him...
I hold onto the thought of him finding me, never to throw it away. And I'm dying here in my bedroom, pleading with God to see him someday.
Even though, when I see him, I'm doomed.