Friday, November 07, 2003

sth i wrote some time back....

He sat on the wooden bench, wrapping the long coat round his knees. It was an unusually cold day, and he winced slightly at the coldness of the bench. A light breeze blew, and maple leaves long dead rustled around his feet, crackling. The air smelt fresh, with an undertone of sadness - almost blue. He could hear the cries of children tumbling in leaf piles, the shrill shouts of little brothers urging their older sisters to push them higher, higher.

He sighed, and leaned against the back of the bench, ignoring the cold. His head hung low, chin almost resting on his chest - and yet not as low as how he felt...

* * *

Why did you have to leave? I still don't understand why. Was it something I said, or was it something that I didn't do? I don't even know when you left. I'm sure you had your own reasons for leaving. But we could have worked things out, if you had told me.

I watched you grow - from dolls and frilly dresses to jeans and skirts, from ribbons and crayons to makeup and paintbrushes - and you saw me jumping headlong into rivers, falling from trees and winning races. It seemed as if these times would never end. We never had a worry, except when you had the flu or when I sprained my ankle.

Then it happened. We grew up, and we went down our own paths. I tried to keep in touch with you, but you were always busy with something. The few times that we met were brief to say the least, and you would go on and on. I guess some things just don't change. I was satisfied just to see you smile, and it was enough for me to hear your laugh.

It seemed natural enough that you called me: after all, we spent countless summers together. You shared with me what you had gone through all these times, your experiences, your memories. As usual, I sat there, saying nothing. I was just glad that you were finally back. I remember I held your hand in mine, feeling that familiar warmth once again. It brought back so much, and in so many ways, I knew. I just knew.

You were always the early riser, and you made breakfast. You used to burn the toast, and you still do. But never once did I tell you I liked my toast the way you did it. I never told you how much I enjoyed the walks in the park with your hand in mine, and neither did I tell you that my socks were in the second drawer, not the first. I never did make any toast for you.

I did not tell you how much I loved you.

You meant so much to me, and I could not bear to see you leave. I was afraid that you would, and thought of ways to keep you by my side. But I couldn't. You would never be happy with me. I tried letting you go, but it hurt so much, so much. I could not bear to see the light in your eyes dim, yet I had to let you leave. Perhaps...

* * *

A bus trundled up, and came to a wheezing halt. A piston sighed, and doors slid back on squeaky hinges.

"Excuse me, but is this the number 14 bus?"

"Yeah. You gonna get on or what?"

Sighing as he got up, he flipped open a red-and-white cane, tipping-and-tapping his way to the bus.

"Here, let me help you."

"Thanks."

As he sat down, he looked out the window, and looked at the sun setting on the lake. Reds and oranges reflected in the lake's surface, and for a moment, sky and earth merged as one. Clouds seemed to drift across a mirror of ripples, and the sun seemed to be sliding into the warm depths of the lake. Soon, the bus rounded a bend, but yet, he could still see the sunset - in his own way.

lost ~no angel~ at 10:19 PM