The Quiet of Loneliness

 

Text Box: Loneliness brings him here this evening. The night is brutally cold, but the air is still; pregnant with its own inner thoughts. The only sound to be heard, barely detectable was an airplane flying high above the clouds filled with people temporarily escaping their lives for a short time; they are weightless now, free to shed who they are and become anonymous strangers with no history in a strange land. A car speeds by temporarily shattering the silence only early morning night can create. As quickly as the quiet is broken, silence descends like an invisible fog. To the human eye it moves undetectable, but at the exact moment of its descent into your air; if you stand perfectly still and inhabit the silence surrounding you, wear it like your skin you will feel it settling like heat being absorbed through your pores. Ten minutes has passed since he first arrived at her doorstep, and he stands outside her house craving something he has no right to crave. To ask for satisfaction of his innermost cravings would only allow her into a space she can occupy temporarily, for one night. And it’s not sex that he craves because sex can be easily gotten like you would go into a grocery store and buy milk or bread. Sex only satisfies the body, and what he yearns for is a heart touch which can heal the soul allowing your spirit to rediscover what it holds to be true; that even in loneliness you can find solace if you can see beyond the moment to blue skies. An hour ago he woke up in tears and in such dreadful pain that he felt surely his heart was being purged from his soul. He listened closer, bending his ear to his heart and he heard the sound of his heart crying. The darkness in his room felt like death Text Box: waiting for him with open arms; an hour later aimlessly walking he finds himself at her doorsteps. They had parted on amicable terms, and they were both aware that they were better suited for other people. Maybe tonight they would fit perfectly together like a noun and a verb; without each other the sentence is incomplete and that’s how he felt on this night, lost and incomplete. A gentle wind kisses his face and is filled with stories of the places she’s visited for the night: she tells him of seeing love in bloom for the very first time as two lovers walked through Central Park, of guiding a lost bird home to feed her young and she tells him of hearing all the voices of those who pray for the night for all the wrong reasons. He tells her why he finds himself here at this time of morning, and she kisses his face a little bit longer; the loneliness disappears, but then she’s gone and so is that temporary feeling of being held and cared for. A restless sleep had interrupted her dreams, and the chill of the winter wind brought her to the bedroom window. That’s where she stood watching him lost in thought, and having an internal conversation with himself as he’s done even when he was with her. A vacated look would occupy his eyes, and she would know she had lost him again to wherever he visited during his mind travels. He often pacified her with glib responses, but she had become attuned to his sudden mood swings. In the middle of a conversation his mind would wander leaving her alone to
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Text Box: find answers to her questions. There were times when she missed him so intensely that it felt like a physical pain, but she didn’t miss feeling invisible when they were together. The cold air sliced through her flimsy nightgown and she wrapped her body in the floor length black curtain that hid her from his eyes. She was already imagining how he would feel when he wrapped his arms around her slight figure and her entire being would disappear into his warmth. The physical aspect of their relationship had been beautiful, but what she treasured most the moments when they would burn in each other’s heat when they cuddled. His fingers would lovingly stroke her bare skin, and he would gently massage her ass and breasts like he was kneading dough to make bread. She experienced the best orgasms of her life during those quiet intimidate times and all he did was to hold her close making her feel special. His fingers felt like what love should feel like everyday- a gentle probe in search of answers to unearth any pain living below the surface and to heal it. She would wait for him to find the courage to accept the fact that he needed her more than he cared to admit to himself. He could feel her watching him behind the curtains waiting for him to come to bed. The cold had found its way into his coat through his sweater, and the coldness felt as if it was emanating from his heart. A wave of tiredness washed over him as sleep beckoned him into her arms, and the seduction of a peaceful night of rest would be too much to resist. Everything was still, not a breath of air moved; perfect Text Box: silence. He wished he could own this moment so that at any given time; he could summon it from his memory to play it over and over again like a beautiful love song that touches your heart. Every time you hear this special song it touches your heart just like it did the first time you heard it. He wanted this moment to be perfect forever. Daybreak was peeking through the barren naked trees, and it wouldn’t be long before the world intruded on his quiet. There was no resistance when he turned the doorknob and entered her apartment. Words would only make the moment awkward; there would be enough time for that later. Slipping under the covers he reached for her to pull her body close, but she was already there; willing to give what he needed, even if it was only for a few hours. Dean Jean-Pierre 1-11-06 5:30pm RETURN TO NEW STUFF