A moment of sorrow

I watch her for hours sitting motionless. Her head slung low and deep across her chest, dark moody hair caressing her face, dancing occasionally on her tired breath. Saddened legs are thrown over the curves of the tattered chair, her eyes of sea green bathing in salty tears while her body struggles to support a heart, so deeply wounded it contorts her face.

As the sun slinks behind the ocean, the bats begin to flap, their every wing stroke painting the sky a darker shade of night. A loyal dog sleeps at her feet, and as the day falls silent, her noise begins.

She has wasted a lifetime guarding her heart, yet someone, somehow, always gets in. Perhaps through a careless crack remaining in her armour from the last hurt. But they get in. And it is as if with the force of dynamite that same someone shatters her protective shield in an explosion of love, emotion and the hint of evermore. Followed, not initially, but eventually, almost inevitably with a raised knife. And they cut, and slice, and chop at her blood red heart stopping dead the promise of evermore and leaving in it’s wake a weeping hole flushed with pain.

The problem, she thinks, is people. They continue to love and love and love. It is fired at you from birth and it hurts, when it’s taken away it hurts.

Drowning in her anguish she remains motionless on the chair. The ice, thrown from her warming vodka, melts freely on the ground and a cigarette burns, spilling smokey images of nothing into her darkness.

The sun has set and her eyes begin to droop, no longer able to sustain the weight of the air resting heavily on her lashes. Her body is slumped and life is slowly stealing, breath by breath, the air from her body. Her mind begins to wander.

Have you ever had a glimpse of insanity, seen the demons of love crashing through the corridors of your broken mind. A shattered heart reflected in your crazed thoughts, not daring to understand a life without him. Mass confusion being the clearest notion floating around your head in fragments of nothing reasonable.

Crumpled on the chair, the chaos in her head makes silent her audible sobs. There is a laugh somewhere in the distance but her cry follows. Even the trees are sighing. I can see her thoughts etched in the sorrow of her brow and she wants to run so far and so wide so as to lose her way home.

After repeated moments of eternity, there is movement from the chair. The thirsty foot dog rouses from his slumber, moving quietly to drink from the moon stained pond, disturbing only the tranquillity of sleeping fish. Without raising her head, our girl lifts a glass to her lips. Lips once rich and ripe now drained of his kisses.

Drink the liquid girl and think no more.

The bare alcohol claws at her tongue, fills her nostrils with fumes and burns her throat before bringing the sweetness of intoxication. A divine barrier between her, and reality. Her pathetic heart continues to beat and her drunken mind clouds over.

Perhaps, she thinks, if she were to dive into the ocean, hold her breath and wish hard enough she would dissolve. What a magnificent trip to lick the shores of every land. To be drawn into the sky by the great golden ball of fire only to rain passion on two lovers caught in a romantic storm, to fall down their bodies and feed the grass under their feet. The grass, that gives a luxurious comfort to the old man resting while watching his grandson play. Pure joy she’d bring to this world as a droplet of water. Unleashing her desire on the thirsty, building herself up to be powerful enough for young and old to play with and surf on. And then as night falls, she’d calm and wrap herself tenderly around the under water world, restoring it from the sun’s drying pain.

The girl begins to stir. Stand up, make the trip and fall asleep. It’s time for bed.

Tonight as her unloved body lies in a lonely despair, not able to mend her crumbling world, she sleeps. Dream dear child, close your eyes and let your spirit play with the stars. Feel the cool solitude of darkness. Twinkle and wink at your neighbouring friends but shy away if the light becomes too bright, you’re not yet ready to reveal the pain of your secrets. In sleep she’s a glistening diamond – the naked eye admires her, a child wishes upon her, someone romanticise under her – she’s a fairy, an angel, a loved one.

But as a new day approaches, the sky’s diamond is put to shame by the honest light of the sun. And as the morning rays hit our heroine’s eyes her spirit falls to become once more her body alone in bed, not wanting to face a single day without him. But with the faint memory of dreamtime, she knows she will one day bewilder again and gain back her admirers with mystery and beauty.

She will heal, I know. She is me.

And it was, after all, only a moment of sorrow.

Journal Comments

  • Pilgrim
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