Unrequited Love.

I saw scribbling on black walls, love poems, dedicated to boys she did not know and boys that were not me. I surveyed this new terra-firma, the constructions of a battered soul and a pristine spirit. Her escape, I imagined from an imperfect world and a Jurassic society. She was all that is and was divine; devoid of blemish and impurity. Everywhere she went, she left little pieces of kaleidoscopic rainbows, for the lucky observant children that went about. She was a rat in the middle ages, spreading the bubonic plague. I followed her home every day, at a distance, just to see that she got home safely, not that I could have been of any defense, should there have been any danger, but it helped me sleep better and keep the monsters under my bed at bay. I wanted to hold her hands, I wanted to trace the lines on her palms and then make my own, I wanted to feel her warmth, and just so I could tell the sun it was doing a terrible job. I wanted to read her Wordsworth Longfellow; I wanted to tell her that just like Dunbar, I knew why the caged birds sang. But I was an anachronism to her, an anomaly. And she was too tired to understand. I left, wearing brown stains of defeat and rejection, I had heard of the thing called love, in my opinion, love was just a nefarious child with no respect for boundaries, I wanted to kill it, then shake its cold body till a piece of its soul was smeared on myself. I sought punishment for my perfidious heart, and refuge from myself. Now, the monsters underneath my bed had free reign. They went about in the night wind, to and fro like mother’s laundry on the clothesline, taunting me. When it seemed that I had overcome my feminine perturbation, thoughts of her broke through the marble walls of my mind like a startled Jack-in-the-box, the poor thing. I and misery chatted the weeks away like long-time comrade-in-arms, most of our conversations bordering on market prices and loud Arabian music. My body ached, burdened with the everyday minutiae of iconoclastic life and loss of purpose, sleep came easy. I no longer stared into the night, crescent moons had lost their magic, and the stars flickered with age, showing grey hairs on their edges. When I heard news of her death, I cried, slow heavy tears "tears wrapped in hopes and moonlit benedictions. I laid them like flowers on her casket, they made holes in the dark mahogany. I thought of all the children, walking those cold streets searching for their own little rainbows and how they would go to bed and without anything to dream about. I thought of my heart, and how useless it was to me. life was farcical, and love had taken its misdemeanors somewhere else far away. I thought of the ageing stars and how they would converge later on; to form these words: ‘There are many heavens, and all of them were in her eyes.’

 

What’s your story?

Reviews

[.]

~ it takes a while to arrive at...

‘There are many heavens, and all of them were in her eyes.’

~ i had no idea of what happens during the journey to this realization about where heaven is... so... this piece is incredibly insightful... and gives me much food for thought...

~ i was abandoned but i don't think my life is tragic... yet i can accept that it must appear so to those who view it from the outside...

~ you do write very beautifully... your core can't be doubted... nor can your gift for words...

[Joshua Lean]

I am grateful indeed.Thank you.

[.]

~ my privilege...

[Priscilla Sayers]

Wow! Your vivid in descriptions, in emotion, in life. To tell such a heartbreaking story in a way that not only tells the tale but LIVES it. The words breathe my friend... You are remarkable to say the least...

[Joshua Lean]

Thank you!

[Priscilla Sayers]

It is curious to me that you have rearranged your work.
But dear friend,
let me tell you a tale of Love Unrequited....
But you'll have to let me write it and post it. I will let you know when my story is up....:)

[Joshua Lean]

I'd be delighhted!

[Anita Harris]

Wow! Very nice. This was worded very well, and was beautifully written. It tugged at my heart strings a bit. Great job! xx

[Joshua Lean]

Thank you!

[Dennis A. Clark]

Nice prose-poem.

Wondering: Would breaking up this thick block into smaller chunks help with readability?

Also: Do you need phrasing such as "my feminine perturbation"? That type of diction feels out of place here.

[Joshua Lean]

Hm. Duly noted. Thank you!

[Bella Luna]

This was really emotional! I could feel the speaker's longing and bitterness towards love. I absolutely love the last line! "There are many heavens, and all of them were in her eyes." Amazing! Great job!

[Joshua Lean]

Thank you!

[Alisa Js]

Aloha,

This is a detailed and intensely emotional bit of prose, quite enjoyable. The narrative allows the reader a glimpse into the personas mind as he shares his discourse.

Nicely done.

Alisa :-)

[Joshua Lean]

Thank you!

[symmetryAsymmetry]

Love is of three kinds...one, love for ourselves..two, love for other people...three, love for nature...it will stop hurting only when one stops seeing the difference between the three. My story is this eternal search.
Though my approval is of no value, i'd still like to say, you write very good poetry :)

[Joshua Lean]

Thank you very much!

[Becca Bishop]

ARGH!!!!! Why'd she have to die!!!???? You know you can write well when you say almost nothing about the characters but your readers still fall in love with them. Maybe it's just me being a hopeless romantic, but I thought it was so sweet that he still loved her even after he was rejected and hurt. Now that right there is real affection. Probably my favorite line in the whole piece was, "I no longer stared into the night, crescent moons had lost their magic, and the stars flickered with age...." and also the very last line. Beautiful. I really want to know what happened to the girl and why she died and...yeah. Great stories create more questions than they answer so obviously you've written a great story. This is absolutely heartbreakingly, breathtakingly beautiful.