The Story, requested by Mal
I wonder sometimes what goes on through peoples heads. It cuts you deeper than anything else when the closest person to you becomes distant without you knowing why. It cuts you so deep you wonder that if you will become a slave to yourself for the rest of your life wondering why it happened, only realize in the back of your mind that all attempts to figure out are in vain. At times you wish you could just read their minds, see whats beyond the surface of their reasoning. I look around myself, read about it, only to find myself asking more questions, understanding less, and becoming more confused on what it is really about. For years I have layed down, looked out my window, and tried to make sense of this.
Why must my dreams be of wanting confort, of wanting the tranquility I once had in my life? For once, couldn't I dream of already having it? I hear whispers of that once perfect time I had cursing at me for letting go of it. It burns deep knowing from the beginning it would cause me more pain than I could immagine loosing something so precious. Now I live day to day, wondering what I did wrong; curious as to what you were thinking the day you decided to leave. What should I change? How can I change that? Worst of all, will I ever have something as special as you again.
Now you are stuck wondering why there is no hope, no helpul word in this story, even though I told you that everything I write is to give you a whisper of that. There is no promise of a moonlight tear, or a gentile reassuring breeze. It is because there is no end to this. This is the only the beginning of the story we have created.
Why must my dreams be of wanting confort, of wanting the tranquility I once had in my life? For once, couldn't I dream of already having it? I hear whispers of that once perfect time I had cursing at me for letting go of it. It burns deep knowing from the beginning it would cause me more pain than I could immagine loosing something so precious. Now I live day to day, wondering what I did wrong; curious as to what you were thinking the day you decided to leave. What should I change? How can I change that? Worst of all, will I ever have something as special as you again.
Now you are stuck wondering why there is no hope, no helpul word in this story, even though I told you that everything I write is to give you a whisper of that. There is no promise of a moonlight tear, or a gentile reassuring breeze. It is because there is no end to this. This is the only the beginning of the story we have created.