I walk through the searing fire, if you call me from the other side.
I swim through the freezing ocean, if you made the tide.
I climb the highest mountains, if you are waiting at the top.
Because to be with you, nothing will make me stop.
Seven days and seven nights, I stay awake for you.
There aren’t many things I wouldn’t do.
But only if you treat me like a queen;
Like the most precious flower ever seen.
If you are an ass to me,
I will set you free.
Whenever you call me, I will come.
No journey will ever be too long.
I will travel over land and sea and even touch the clouds,
And in the end, I will conquer the crowds.
Ages ago, our fragments were blown apart.
But upon meeting again, our souls were pulled out of the dark.
Hand in hand we walk toward the promised light,
And our bodies unite anew each and every night.
Every holes are filled – heart, mind and soul.
There’s only one; only you, who can make me whole.
The flickering light bulb in your soul needs replacement.
And I’ll push the clouds on the night sky away so that you can see the moon.
I am strong for you, when you aren’t.
I will not go.
And when thoughts are dripping with sorrow like a leaking faucet;
I will find the tools to fix you.
I am aware of how this sounds. Pretentious. Fixing someone sounds wrong, doesn’t it? And I don’t mean fixing as in changing and bending the other one in this direction or that. If you love someone, you want them to be well. You don’t want them to suffer. And most often a way of healing a wound is with love – unconditional love. With your presence. And by allowing them to be who they are. Even when they are miserable just then. Love. Patience. Acceptance. It can’t fix everything. Except for sometimes, when all that matters is hearing ‘I love you and I will not leave (no matter how toxic you pretend to be).’
It’s a feeling.
Nothing more than a feeling.
I feel the rain that is falling on your soul.
It makes you suffer. You are in pain. It makes you hide.
I offered help, but you didn’t take it.
It’s selfish, but you are too young to go. I am not done.
I still need you in my life.
In my heart.
Sunday night. The weekend was uneventful, and I am watching reruns of the Gilmore Girls. Half a bag of chips is gone. Half a bottle of wine makes me feel comfortable and warm. There’s a knock at the door. It’s late. Dark. No moon. I wonder if I forgot a date or something, but there is nothing and no one that I remember.
Should I open the door? I’m scared, and my eyes lose focus. Something isn’t right. I was watching TV and mute the volume now. Is it too late to pretend not being in? Did I make a lot of noise? I pull my legs closer to my chest and forget to breathe. My ears are on high alert and in my nervousness, I bite at the skin surrounding my thumbnail. Nervous habit. Another knock and a sound piercing the silence. Like a wail. Was that a human sound? I don’t know. Fuck! I run my hand across my face and try to think of what to do. My mind is blank. I am scared. That much I know. I am curious, too. Who is at my door at this time of the night, and what is happening? I put my feet on the plush carpet and move in slow motion. The sound of my beating heart is annoying. I can’t hear much else. Can I move the curtain without anyone outside noticing? Maybe if I don’t breathe. My heart races, it almost hurts. My clammy, shaking hands touch the cloth, but they don’t move it. Too risky.
I look at the door. Maybe they are gone by now?
And now curiosity wins. This is the exact moment in a horror movie where the brainless woman is killed in a surprise attack. Still, I open the door, just a crack. There isn’t anything. Just dark. Relief floods me. I feel the searing heat that kept me on my toes vanish and make room for a reassuring cold. I smile and shake my head looking at the floor.
There’s a liquid on my doorstep. A puddle of it. But it’s dark, and I can’t see its nature. Did someone release themselves against my door? I scoff. Drunks are everywhere. The entire time I had been hunched over and tense. Now I straighten my back, and relaxed, I turn to close the door. I will make sure to lock myself in. I don’t need this excessive agitation. I push the door, but it doesn’t close. Something is preventing it. And I see what it is. A foot. A heavy boot. I panic and push harder at the wood, but the foot doesn’t budge, and the door doesn’t close. A hard shove and I fall flat on my ass. A man enters. He’s huge. And while I try to get my feet under my body, he laughs. An evil laugh. Deep. My gaze falls to his hand. Right one. It is covered in a crimson liquid that drips on my floor. Will I be able to get those stains cleaned up again? He is wearing a black coat. Heavy. Appropriate for the fall weather. My eyes continue their journey, and they stop on his face. A scar from left to right. From the left eyebrow to the right corner of his mouth. His lips are twisted into a sneer. I have never been this scared in my life. Specks of red – maybe blood, cover his face. No visible hair, apart from the eyebrows. His eyes are dark pits staring at me. Wide open. Horrifying. I want to say something. Beg for something, but there is no sound. I am just as mute as the TV. It is still playing. I see the colors and the play of light and dark. The stranger closes the door with the heel of his right foot. The banging noise resonates in the silence. Why do I notice these things? The blood keeps dripping onto my floor. Is it his blood? Whose blood? More importantly, is it really blood? Blood. The word keeps spinning in my head and the many reasons why one loses blood keep my mind occupied. There’s no rational thought in me. But I still try to move away from the intruder. My arms and legs are no use. The more I try to move, the more my limbs refuse to cooperate. And when the man bends down over me, I freeze. I shake my head. I want to say something. Anything. Beg for my life. But someone must have stolen the words right out of my mouth. His sneer is burning itself into my brain. No one will ever find it there. His bloody hand guides my chin to look upwards. His breath doesn’t stink, and his touch isn’t cold. It’s almost gentle. I didn’t see the blade before. But I can feel its metal now. Cold a first, it warms quickly against the skin of my throat. His eyes keep mine hostage. How can someone have empty eyes like this? Ouch. It hurts. I try to take a breath, but no air fills my lungs. There’s a strange smell, and I feel so light. As if I am losing twenty-one grams. He moves closer and kisses my forehead. He whispers something. I can’t understand him. I panic and try to get away from him, but the way he is sitting over me keeps me from moving. I realize that I am being killed. No. No. I don’t want to… Curiosity killed the…
I am a ghost waiting for you. As you enter the dark, I become your guide.
I am a ghost lingering in the background when all is well. When it’s not, you turn to me.
I am a ghost. You know I am there but you can’t see me.
I am a ghost in your world. A phantom no one knows.
I am a ghost and when you can’t talk, I understand.
I am a ghost waiting for you. And when you need me, I become real.
I wish I was the moon that guides you through the night.
I wish I was the sun warming you from the sky.
I wish I was the water that stops your thirst.
I wish I was a thought – every morning’s first.
I’m on top of the mountain screaming your name.
I’m a loser so that you can win every game.
I’m swimming across the ocean just to be with you.
On your favourite flower, I am the morning dew.
I wish my wishes weren’t in vain.
I wish you felt the same.
I wish you could hear my voice.
I wish you could hear it through the noise.
I am flying above the clouds.
I am forgetting all those stupid doubts.
I am giving myself to you.
Hoping that my wishes are your wishes too.
I drink the memories of us away until they are a pounding headache.
Punishment. I was innocent.
every time I see you, my heart bleeds.
the bleeding can only be stopped with your touch.
the ache inside will only vanish if you suck it out of my pores.
I miss you so much that I fear if I ever stop missing you, I will disintegrate.
and I don’t want to be addicted to your scent.
and I don’t want to miss you in my dreams.
and I don’t want to be yours. That’s a lie. Because I do.
but you made me feel. you freed me. you saved me. and now you caged me again.
even when you are near, you are far away.
and my heart keeps missing. you.
and I will never be if I am without you.
I can still feel your last embrace on my skin.
I can still hear your last words whispered in my ear.
My biggest fear is that you’ll silently vanish from my mind and leave a gap in my heart that can never be filled.
Thursday night. 7:56pm. I am waiting. The sun is setting. It’s getting colder. But I keep waiting. Every once in a while, I take my phone out of my pocket to check for missed calls or messages. People are looking at me. I keep waiting. It’s only our second date. A concert date. A band that I like a lot but I had no one to come with me tonight. I asked him. Enzo. He said he would love to come. Enzo is Italian. Looks like one too. Dark long wavy hair, brown eyes with a sparkle. Really pretty eyes. His voice is a bit nasal, and he seems nervous all the time, buzzing with a restless inner energy. I have a cousin named Enzo too. Italian heritage and all that. But I am still waiting. The music started inside, and the crowd waiting outside where I am is thinning. The bass is droning. Where is he? I hope nothing happened. Another look at the phone. There’s a message.
Sorry. This is not going to work. Enjoy the show. Sorry. Delete my number. We shouldn’t get in touch. Got back together with my ex.
I read it again. But I don’t understand what I read. I had no idea that he considered going back to his ex. Then again, it was not a subject we had breached. I am torn. Should I go in, buy a couple of beers and listen to the music? Or should I go home? Yes, I was excited for our date tonight, but was I that attached that I will drown in self-pity? I consider my option. I look down the street. It’s nearly empty. Illuminated by the orange city lights. I look back at the club’s entrance. Two men who wouldn’t fit into my closet are guarding the doors. They are laughing. It makes them appear even more intimidating. 8:25. Shit. I have never been to a concert on my own. But I really want to see this band. I take a deep breath. It’s funny how sighing or taking deep breaths relaxes me. Out of my huge tote bag, I get my ticket. I paid for it. I’m going in. One of the burly guys scans my ticket while the other ask to see my bag. I should have thought about that earlier. Could have saved me the embarrassing moment of showing how many used tissues I carry around. Love will tear us apart says the man who scanned my ticket. I don’t understand. He must be good at reading people because he jerks his chin into the direction of my bag that is inspected. Indeed. The words he said are written on my bag. I just smile and nod. I hold out my hand for the obligatory stamp. It’s a teddy bear. Childish. Who chooses these things?
I walk inside. The music is loud. Too many people. And I am alone. I try my best to fit in. But I might look lost. At the bar, I see an opening. Maybe I am lucky and can order a drink without feeling out of place? To my surprise, it does work. The usual shouting and international signs for beer are used, but I get what I want. I turn around to make my way closer to the stage. A man stumbles into my path and something cold is poured down my front. Jeez. Jerk. I shout, looking at the mess he made and the merged beer and whatever liquid he drank that are now on my shirt. I am not sure if he heard me above the music. Our eyes meet. I know those eyes. They are green. Very pale. I take a step back. Small, cautious step. It’s him. Fucking hell! Him; the band’s guitarist and singer. And I just called him a jerk. I feel the heat rising in my cheeks. He looks at me. Watches me with his head tilted to the side. There is something like disappointment on his face now that I recognised him. Should I apologise? I didn’t do anything wrong. But he’s famous. Everyone around us is here to see him. And he poured his drink down my shirt. It’s a weird moment. I only see him. I know that there are people around us. Many people. But they are out of focus. Blurry side notes. Come, he orders and gently wraps his hand around my wrist. Too stunned, I just follow him. He pulls me toward the merchandise stand and asks for a T-shirt. All the time he has his hand on my wrist. He must feel my pulse against the calloused skin of his fingers and hand. I can feel it. Mine. My heart beat. It’s very fast. Almost uncomfortable. He turns to me and smiles. Again he orders me to follow him. And I do. It’s actually not careful to trust him. A stranger. But somehow, I do. Maybe I fell for the illusion that I know him because of his familiar face? Apart from my two greeting words I haven’t said a word. My mind is racing. My heart is too. He pushes doors open and shows his access all areas badge. In one hand he holds a shirt. In the other he holds me. What’s happening here? The music is not as loud anymore after we walked through another door. There are tables with food and more strangely familiar faces. People are laughing and teasing each other. Others are checking instruments. Batteries are put into guitars, strings are tuned. He shows me a door and gives me the piece of cloth he had been clutching in his hand. The one that hadn’t been on me. The moment he releases my wrist, goose flesh spreads where his touch has been. My skin is already missing his touch. Silly thought. I should dismiss it. And I really don’t want to wear a band T-shirt. But I am soaked. And so I give in.