September 17, 2009
he knew it was the last time he'd ever talk to her. it wasn't anything she'd said. but he simply couldn't continue it anymore.
i'm the hollow hand of memories.
there were too many of them. all the memories. some real, some imaginary. choking him every time he'd try talking to her.
i'm the tangy taste of tears.
every time he'd talked to her after she went away - every single time - he'd ended up crying. not to her face. but afterward.
i'm the vicious vacuum of absence.
he knew he wasn't a part of her life any more. and he hated hearing about her from others. reminded him of how far they really had grown apart.
i'm the dead drumming of distance.
they could never be friends. he knew she'd never tell him any of the problems she might be facing. he could never care for her the way he wanted to.
i'm the impending implosion of inevitability.
they weren't meant to be together. ever. he had been forced by events to realise this. and so this day he was going to end it.
i'm the cold clutch of fear.
but how would it feel like? to never talk to her? not listen to that voice? or that laugh? a number on the phone that couldn't be dialed.
i'm the wistful wave of lost love.
"keep smiling. and take good care of yourself."
i'm the raucous ring of the death knell.
[written in 'fight club' style :). and yes, late goodbye is a wonderful song.]