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It was days like today that made him wonder if the world was really real, or was this simply a dream he couldn't seem to wake from? He sat down on the curb and stared at the sky. Nothing ever went the way it was planned. Of course, it never did. That was probably one of the few realities of his life.


He looked at the moon high above. It was so full and clear. It was a perfect fall night. A slight chill to the air, cool enough to warrant a long shirt, but not so cold as to need a jacket. He couldn't have asked for better weather. A better night, that was a different story.

The people walked past him, oblivious to him. He didn't exist, they had their own problems, their own worries. He missed the intimacy of his small town. Where people asked you how you were doing, and actually cared about the answer. Or at least, in his memories they did. It had been so long since he had been back home, he had no real idea.

He watched the women walk by, dressed appropriate for the hot sticky weather, short shorts or skirts, skimpy shirts.  The seductive wrap of the clothe, the way it accentuated their curves. His eyes roamed at will, following every inch of their contours. He wasn't sure when, but somewhere along the way, he lost his ability to care. 


He let his gaze wander around, not really paying attention to what he saw, just roaming at will, his mind completely lost in thought. This wasn't what he had intended, but then nothing goes according to plan. He was starting to hate that phrase.


The air was sticky with humidity. He could see the thunder clouds moving in, the lightning flashing in the distance. Soon enough the rain would come and it would cool off considerably. But for now, right now, it was just nasty. 


He knew this wasn't the way it was supposed to be, but he didn't know how to change it or how it was supposed to be different. "Shit," he muttered. He looked down at his feet. He could hear the people walk by, but he was locked in his own prison. 


He had no idea how long he sat there. When he came back to himself, he had no idea where he was, no idea where he had been. And he was fairly sure he had no idea where he was going. 


So, he sat and stared, watching. Trapped in the prison of his own making.

Love, it ain't no big thing

He told her,"I love you."
She just sipped her coffee.
He told her, "You are my world."
She turned the newspaper. Oblivious.
He said to her, "I can't live without you."
She looked up at him, "Go try." was her reply.

Days went by without talking.
He sent her flowers at her work place.
It had a card that read, "I would give you the moon, if that is what you wanted, I love you so."
She told him that night, "If you love me so, I want the moon."
He just stared at her.
"Love is overrated," she said. "You do all sorts of stupid things for someone in the hopes that the other person notices, and feels the same way. Love invites in a stranger, and hands them your heart on a platter. It makes you silly and full of nonsense."

He stared at her for hours while she slept.
"What are you doing?" she queried upon waking.
He had strewn the room in rose petals, lit scented candles, and had soft romantic music playing.
"I want to show you how much I love you." he responded.
"Leave," she replied. "I don't love you." She turned away and closed her eyes.

He was gone when she woke. At first, she was happy. Then she started to miss him. It satarted with the little things he had done for her. Small things to tell her he loved her. He would make her coffee, and her breakfast, just the way she wanted it. He would clean the apartment, she never had to worry. All the small things in her life, gone.

After a few weeks, she could stand it no longer. She called his phone.
He answered. "Hello?"
"I miss you. I love you. I am sorry." she cried.
"I don't know you." he replied coldly.
 And hung up.

Silent

The rain fell oddly. Silently, and yet a total downpour.
Strange to be so silent, he simply wasn't used to this. And yet, it had been this way for years. He was an early riser. He loved the quiet of morning. His time for peace.
So strange, silent rain. Inside was nothing but turmoil. His inner emotions were boiling. He knew not what the outcome was. He just knew the reality. This silence was life. Guess it was time to make the most of it.
The light was the pale light of winter. He knew it well. His entire life was winter. That's the way he felt. To live was to be distant, be cold. Nothing satisfied anymore, nothing had taste, nothing mattered. He spoke rough with people, didn't put up with nonsense.
He knew it was time to fade away. Become the ghost. Man with no past, man with no present. A whisper, a dream. He didn't belong, he didn't exist.

Whispers of a memory, it what was always destined, time to stop fighting what was, and give in. And while this saddened him, it was simply what was. There is only so long that you can live your life in a dream that doesn't exist.

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