Prison on Rt 41
All you really want most nights is for her to fall in love with you. I think this is true for everyone but does not necessarily apply to anyone in particular; unless you find the particular one that you want to fall in love with you. I know who mine is so I guess in a way that makes me luckier than most.
You wait and hope that all the things that you may have done or said may actually outweigh some of the things you may have done or said. You know you have made mistakes. And like a prisoner in a jail, not only do you feel as though you have served your time, but the most heartbreaking thing is not to be able to enjoy life outside of your own prison. You are trapped in your own heart. You don't have the key. She has the key.
I guess in hindsight it's not all that special for her since she has loved, what looks to be and always seemed to be more than she loved me. Her sighs and tales and wishes never seemed to match what was actually happening in our lives. Her desire to be something else or somewhere else and just her basic desires, always seemed like fleeting vapors of effort that came out of me like punched air. But these things do not change your heart. Your heart trots along and pursues and tries to make a life.
The heart in your body is a strange organ. It hurts. It sags and cries with you when it feels locked up. When your heart is in jail your mind cannot be free. Your mind attempts escape but always flutters back to the same point of incarceration. The same words dance all the time, "Is what she says real?" "God I wonder who is watching her smile." "What can I do to fix this?" The answer to the last question, the only question that isn't really rhetorical, is "nothing". You can do nothing to fix what you have broken. There is no parole or bail available for your heart tonight. There doesn't seem to be anything but time in front of me. Like a prisoner marking the walls of his cell I too mark walls in my life. With every passing day, a birthday, a weekend, a baseball game, and even a laugh are not marked by their importance; they are marked by her absence. I think that is the definition of heartache. When you don't mark the good times you are having by the fact that they are good times, and instead you mark them as empty times because your love isn't there; that is heartbreak.
The only way I can answer my questions of "if" or "what" is for me to know if she marks her times with my absence. Unfortunately for me, I know the answer to that question is "no". I see no trace of me in her flaunting photos, and I see no trace of what was "us" in any of her current plans. So while I mark walls in my prison there seems to be a world unfolding outside of what was once my sanctuary.
Time heals all wounds, so they say I guess. I know sometimes I think back and I haven't healed from some wounds. I know that I could not forgive the injustices done to me, and for that thought it seems to me silly that I would expect her to forgive me or share with me just one more smile. That seems very sad that I would feel selfish just having her give me a smile. That would actually feel as if I were stealing. I would feel as though it were either fake or as though I didn't deserve it.
Inside of me there is a lock and heart and they are bound by one common face. They are only freed by one touch, and one pair of eyes. The key to the paradox of my mental prison is an open communication of whether or not she has a lock and a heart bound by one common face; and if that face is not mine, then...I think it's fair I should know.
The terms of this aren't meant to be selfish on my part. It's not only pain I wish to ease, for as long as I am here with gray areas - I will pursue, and I will not quit until I'm told that there is another home for her heart. And in turn that just may be the sentence shortening outcome that I have come to deserve.
Is there a world for me anymore? Is there a place or face that will give me that peace that I so hope is still alive somewhere in both of us? I don't know anymore.
