Can you hear me?

Note: The lines in italics are a poem I read on the net somewhere. It is not my work and I take no credit for it. The lines surrounding it are my creation, my take on the poem, in prose. This post should be considered as an inspired creativity.




Can you hear me now?


I’ve been calling out to you for ages... you haven’t even looked back.


You hear the words come out of my mouth, it’s turned up in grin, the words are something funny and you laugh like you’ve heard nothing funnier. Can’t you for once realize it’s a mask? Cant you for once try to listen to more than just the words... to where I’m calling out… screaming out… for you?


You come to me with a story of your own, you know that I will listen if you want me to, opine if you need me to. You ask me questions you know I don’t know the answers to. You want me to listen, you want me to answer. Can’t you for once stop and think that maybe I need someone to listen to me at some times? Can’t it ever cross your mind that I may need some questions answered too?


Can you hear me yet?


What will it take for you to hear me? Do I shout? Would you care enough to pretend then? Do I sit quietly in the corner… aloof... then will you look and realize? Do I write you a letter confessing it all? Will you claim you read it?


Do you really need to see me break down to believe I may not be the mask I portray?


Maybe what I need to do to get your attention is something drastic. Leave without ever returning. Leave without a goodbye.


Oh, wait, isn’t that what you did? Did you really think I’d never need you? Did you really think id be fine? Did you not know me at all? How were you so sure id keep coming back to meet you? How did you know that id be the one who made sure the marble slab 6 feet over your head would always be clear off flowers? How did you know? And why won’t you answer me yet?


Can you hear me? Can you hear me at all?

I wish you could hear me. Maybe someday, someday, but for now I’ll continue to sink.


~

The entire poem:

Can you hear me? Can you hear me at all?

Probably not, I’ve sunken to far into the darkness to be heard anymore.

I wish you could hear me. Maybe someday, someday, but for now I’ll continue to sink.

I look around; all I see is emotionless bodies, unrecognized faces. It’s all shadows down here. I can only wish yours was somewhere in this misted dream.

It’s more like a fogged nightmare.

If only I could wake up. If only I could find some sort of light in the black nothing.

No matter how dark it gets there is always some light, somewhere. I’ll just hold onto the scrap of hope I have left. The hope to find my way out and see you. If not be with you, I want to say goodbye.

Because I think I am dead. I think I’ve died, and this is the end.

I’ll just keep on sinking, sinking further down.

The Perfect Ending

A bright sunbeam decided today that I shouldn’t be let to sleep in. My mind struggles to clear the fog of my dreamless sleep. Dreamless... that’s what all nights have been since… well, I can’t remember. I look around. Not that there’s much to observe around here. I might as well have been in paradise, it’s all so white. White walls, white bedspreads, white curtains, white everything… even this excuse of an outfit I’m wearing is white, now why on earth would I buy something like this? Besides the white, there’s the smell… its unbearable, like everything has been washed 10 times, and then some weird sorta cleanser has been used 20 more times. Does everything have to be so clean around here? There’s some stuff in the room too (maybe just to distract a person from being blinded by all the white). Some medical mumbo-jumbo, a small table with a jug of water on it and a diary...


A diary? What’s that doing here? I know I shouldn’t be reading it, but I can’t resist. Only a few pages have been written in. Before I can do any reading, a woman walks in (dressed in white, you guessed right!) She has a tray with her, with some food on it, and medicines. Something’s oddly familiar about her. Maybe she feels it too; by the way she’s smiling at me. She gives me some tablets, the food is my breakfast. I suddenly realize I’m starving. As I eat she asks me about how I feel today, well - as bright as..uhmm.. She smiles a bit sadly at my sudden loss of words. She asks me to read the diary, says its mine, says I might find some answers there. She leaves me to finish my breakfast and leaves, saying she’ll come by tomorrow as usual. As usual? Was she ever here before?


I begin to read. Well, like I said I haven’t written much. Well to sum up what’s written in there, I have what could be called total amnesia. How I got here, I don’t remember (well, duh!!). But the sad part is not just that. I came here in a very bad state, and even though the fixed me up pretty well (I got out of a coma after a month, just before they were about to take me off life support, having given up all hope), and while I can function as well as the next human being, I have no memory of what I do, even temporarily. And it’s getting worse by the day. I am forgetting even the smallest things. There are sudden moments where I remember stuff, but not more than that. But that’s not what scares me. I’ve written that I’m supposed to read this every day. Every day? I don’t remember how many days I have been reading this. I don’t remember when I got out of a coma, was it yesterday? Was it a year ago? Does it matter? Tomorrow I will wake up again with no memory of today, read this same crap again and ask myself the same questions.


Suddenly, this white room seems a lot smaller. Who ever said light colors create an illusion of space? Now everything I do, every thought I think, I wonder how many times before I have thought it. I haven’t written about whether my condition is curable, which leads me to believe it may not be. I’ve just been asked to write it down, so I don’t go insane wondering about stuff. From what I’ve written, I gather that no one has ever been to visit me here. The guy who found me was the doctor himself. I’ve not yet been told of the cause of my condition, to spare me mental trauma apparently. Mental trauma? Seriously? I can’t even remember my name. I don’t know how old I am. I don’t even know what I look like, no mirrors here.


All I know right now is that I’m choking. I’m choking and there are invisible metal fingers that are clasping my windpipe and I can’t breathe no more. I stumble towards the bed and sit down heavily on it. I need something… but I don’t know what. I look around helplessly, hopelessly at the white around me trying to figure it out. My eyes land on my uneaten breakfast plate, there’s a spoon and a fork. Before I know what I’m doing, I grasp the fork.


After it’s all over and done with, I realize it’s not the fork that killed me. It’s not the metal fingers around my windpipe. It’s not even the blood flowing along my wrist, staining the white bed sheets red and disturbing the flow of white in the room. It’s the uncertainty. It’s the “not-knowing”.

I wanted a perfect ending.

Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme,

and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end.

Life is about not knowing, having to change,

taking the moment and making the best of it,

without knowing what's going to happen next.

Delicious ambiguity.

~

Song Recommendation: Breaking the Habit by Linkin Park

A Walk in the Rain

It’s raining outside again. It should be her favorite time of the year. She sits by the window as usual, looking down at the small whirlpools created by rain drops in the tiny puddles of water. She loves doing that. There is something just so beautiful about the patterns made by the drops of water. But something is different this year. Somehow she can’t find the peace that she normally does when it rains. As weird as it may sound, chaos outside always seemed to bring peace within her. This time there was something distinctly missing.


She decides to take a walk in the rain. Chaplin once said “I love walking in the rain because no one can see my tears”. Ironic that she should be thinking of that now. As she wanders without too much thought over a familiar path, it dawns on her. It isn’t something that’s missing, it’s someone. It kind of stills her for a moment that something as simple as this took so long to figure out. She should probably turn back right now, but her mind is too far from her feet apparently, so they don’t take any instructions anymore. She wonders if he’ll be there today, she wonders if it would make a difference if he was. Last year, she probably wouldn’t have given a moment’s thought to it. Walking up to that place would be something she looked forward to. Again, weird. There are only two situations that can take place now if he’s there: he sees her, pretends he dint and walks away or he sees her, they have a small awkward conversation and yet again, he walks away.


She should be used to it now. She’s wondering what it will be this time just as she enters the familiar arena. Ah, he’s not there this time. She goes over to one of her favorite spots, right by the huge window that overlooked the ocean and sits down for some pondering. She’s lived a life without regrets so far, she’s not going to let him be her first. She realizes she doesn’t have to look back at those past moments as something she should regret. It could also be some happy memories that just aren’t anymore. Maybe he does. Maybe he regrets it. It doesn’t matter anymore, not to her. Years later, when they both look back at this, if they do, she knows she won’t be the one who had anything to regret. She can only hope that he doesn’t too. Damn right, people change. She just wished she dint change much.


She sets out to the ocean, her mind clearer than when she left home. She reaches the beach, she can feel the sand slipping beneath her feet, yet she has no fear about where her feet may land. It’s raining again. It is her favorite time of the year. She sits by the ocean as usual, looking down at the huge waves constantly crashing at shore. She loves doing that. There is something just so beautiful about the chaotic waves and the fact that no two waves ever seem to form or crash at the same spots. Finally, she is at peace. As weird as it may sound, chaos outside always seems to bring peace within her.


~


Song Recommendation: How to Save a Life by The Fray