"Waiting down at the station,
I don't remember,
I think it was late then..."
Sadness is a contagious thing, I think. For me, in most cases, it works like that. A slight shift in emotions, a minuscule change in gazes, a microsecond pause in between sentences or a slight furrow on the brows that lasts only a second; these affect me more so than anything else, and when these come from someone I hold dearly close to me, the effect is unexplainable.
"Standing always so quiet,
We're like elevators,
Filled up with strangers."
I've always been a person with a silent mouth and a loud, loud brain. I talk really less, in comparison to those who are around me. Silence has been my friend since I was a child, and it has stayed with me throughout my life. It's only with a chosen few that my words do make an appearance, and even then, they are few in numbers. It's a foreign feeling, when even after trying hard and long to find words, nothing comes to mind. It seems even though I am the silent one, I don't really prefer silence.
The sensation of loneliness that this brings, I really can't fathom, and I can't keep it in or let it out. Because I don't like being alone. Not anymore, but there are times when I am just that, and it's that that causes a decay within me.
"Our words fill up the pages,
Fill up the days with,
Songs for the ages..."
These are the moments when I try to write my emotions down. But these days, even words that I paint on a page seem to fail me, leaving me alone along with the words in my mouth. This muteness is madness, an agony. And I search for ways to break out of it whenever it comes around.
"Still, those vows that we all speak,
We break them like concrete,
And just make our words cheap..."
I wonder if he feels the same as I do in these trying moments. When the desperation reaches the roof, and sadness floods the room, soaking every surface, I wonder if he sits as still as I do, watching the level rise and rise until there isn't any room left to breathe. If he blames me in these most profound darkest times in his mind. If he feels that I'm the catalyst for this seemingly everlasting dismay. I do the same as him. But the only person to blame in my head is me, and only me.
"I want someone to grow with,
Songs I can sing to,
And a family to cling to..."
I wonder if, in these moments, his dreams break into pieces. The thought of it is like a thousand knives stabbing me on top of my chest, and for a moment, I can even feel it slip right into my heart, making it stop beating for a second. Because I've never wanted many things in my life. But the things I do want, I want them fiercely, with a passion close to the ever-burning sun.
He says that even the sun will die one day. This miraculous universe, with all its creation, will fall into oblivion, getting wiped out without a trace. But death has always meant rebirth to me. I've been born many times in this one lifetime of mine, even if none of them is the same as the one I am now, just as the next me won't be the same as the one who writes this.
To me, if my sun dies, it'll give birth to whole new galaxies filled with a thousand and one more suns, just as bright as this one. But to him, after this death lies a darkness I never can see.
I try to make him see how his assumptions are flawed. How the lines of misery on his face hold no real danger, but I fail most of the time. I guess that it's bound to happen, as I never do get the things I want.
So in the end, when there is no sign of light, and the flood of dismay covers every inch of mine and his existence both, I just pray;
"But if I can't get the things I want,
If I can't get the things I want,
Just give me what I need,
Just give me what I need..."