It’s late evening, and I’m sat looking out the window while drinking beer. There’s a few streetlights dotted around and the occasional passing car, but that’s about it. Everything’s quiet. It seems so peaceful. So mundane. My fingers ache as does my back from poor posture, and I’m flipping between writing and nothingness. To combat my laziness, I pick up a book I’m halfway through. Something about ghosts. My concentration levels are poor. I thought having a few beers would mellow me out, but they haven’t had the desired effect at all. It’s been a boring day but in a good way. A morning walk around the quarry was enjoyable, especially as it begun to rain when I was halfway around. Taking shelter beneath the trees on top of a raised area where I would spend time reading during the summer months, I smoked a few cigarettes before continuing twenty minutes later. Nobody else was around. It was just me, and that’s how I like it. Listening to music and reminiscing over the past, I was lost to the world amidst a landscape of trees and rolling fields. Bleary-eyed and tired, there’s so much that should be said. So many words that should be revealed. But I’m such a doubter, a cynic of conviction. It’s easier to stay quiet on matters of the heart than to open up and say what needs to be said. The comfort of being numb; of putting off speaking for fear of being hurt. But I know I have to say something. In a hundred years from now when I’m dead in the ground, such trivial matters will mean nothing. They mean nothing even now. All I need is a little courage. Be a man and show her what you’re made of, I tell myself. Prove that the love you talk of is really there. That you would do anything to be with the one that completes you.
Sat here looking out the window, life feels so delicate, and all these wasted days do me no good at all. We’are a long time dead, and every chance of happiness should be snatched at without hesitation. Looking at the horizon of rooftops and streetlights in a mute trance, words of love should be spilling from my mouth. The girl whose smile fills my heart should be hearing my declaration of just how much she means to me, yet vacantly gazing outside is all that I’m capable of it seems. Maybe I should send her a message. Something short and sweet, just to let her know I care. But then that might come across as blasé. She might think a short message is all that she’s worth. So maybe a long message, then I can tell her my reasons for being so quiet. That way she’ll know just how I feel about her. But what if she doesn’t want a message? What if I should call her? That would be more personal, and the sound of her voice is always so nice to hear. But what if she doesn’t answer? What if she doesn’t want me to call her? Being quiet is easier, yet it’s the worst thing to do for sure. The longer I deliberate, the later it gets. Eventually, I fall into a morose state that I can’t escape from. Everything is outside of my control. The worst is to be expected, and I should just give up. She doesn’t want me, and it’s plain to see. Resting my head on the desk where I write, I close my eyes and drift into memory and dream. Only she’s waiting for me. Her beauty making me tremble. The honesty of her gaze- the truth of her touch. She means more to me than I thought possible. She gets under my skin like no other. No one else comes close. Sinking into shapeless thoughts, she watches me with eyes of autumn wonder until I eventually fall into deep sleep. And there’s no solace in sleep, only more and more wasted hours.