When he looks at me it’s like his eyes are a spotlight and I’m caught in the beam centre-stage. He looks at me not like I’m the backdrop to the scene; I’m not a faded set with peeling paint and flaking edges. I’m not a shabby stage curtain, tattered from where uncaring hands roughly tugged me to and fro. No- he looks at me like I am more.
When he stares I feel like the main event, Hollywood’s finest star. When he stares his eyes give me standing ovations, his lips shower me in rich red roses and a cacophony of cheers.
And even though he’s the only member of my audience, the only pair of eyes watching my show, I feel like the most cherished character there is. Because when he stares, he looks at me as though I’m something worth looking at.
Monthly Archives: August 2014
Found. (Part One)
Crowded places had always been a refuge for me- I loved the safety of numbers, of being just one dull, expressionless face in a black and white canvas painted with dull, expressionless faces. In supermarkets, cafés, airports and bustling streets I allowed myself to be lost in a wave of people, one ripple cascading among thousands of other ripples. In crowds I was always hidden, a tiny shuffling secret, safe- that is, until she found me.
Writer’s Block
I can see the scenarios in front of me
Like shots from a movie scene,
The anger, the laughter, the tears
All accompanied by only silence-
I can’t hear the words to tell the story,
And this tale is but a blank canvas
I, the artist, without paint.
Images swirl and fall together
In no order, a jumbled kaleidoscope
Of nonsensical stories,
A twisted mirage of bleak nothings.
I see the end, the final kiss,
The last few moments of a perfect scene-
But the main girl, she’s crying
And the boy, he has no words
This wasn’t the ending we all pictured…
If only I could find the words
To change it.