Waiting...

06^th Oct, 2010

I know that you’re listening, but that you don’t hear me, and I know that it’s not my fault. I also know that we are too different and yet so similar, and that you look at me, but don’t really see me.

I’m on the bed, my gaze pinned towards the ceiling. Each time I catch myself thinking things through, I observe these wood planks, learning all of the cracks and imperfections by heart now. Therefore, here I am again, thinking about you, about me, about our lives that connect, intertwine and then split up again. Thinking whether I’ve learned something from you or if you’ve maybe learned something from me or perhaps about me, and at the same time about yourself… Thinking while waiting – waiting for you to apologize.

It’s snowing, and due to the warmth of the apartment the layer kissing the roof and windows melts and trickles into the room. There was no trickling in the house, but there was no warmth either. It was cold and sometimes scary, always loud. Here it’s warm, a little from the heating system, a bit from all the love. This is home. And where are you? You aren’t. You simply are not. I would ask myself countless times if it had to end like that, and every time the answer would be the same: “It should have ended like that.” I turn to my side still waiting for you to call me, to talk to me and say you’re sorry. But the phone stays dead silent. There are no sounds…

I wished for you to shield me, protect me, hug me and say you love me. You didn’t do so. Everybody says: “You know that he loves you.” Well do I? Do I really? Yes, I do, I feel it…sometimes, not often enough. It wouldn’t kill you to say that it’s so as well. There are days I’m so angry I don’t even want to utter your name, and there are days when nothing at all matters. The nights are the worst, the hardest, I lay all tucked in on this bed, looking at the ceiling and the memories flood the mind. The river of pictures falls into a string of rapids and soon the lock on the door in my heart brakes, it flies open and I cry myself to sleep.

I’m still on the bed, waiting – waiting to forgive you.