You know that letter, journal entry or poem you write that you don't want to share with the person or persons who you are writing about? You know those feelings and expressions you keep bottled up that you think others won't understand so you keep them trapped inside? You know the thoughts that haunt you whenever you're under your automatic operation switch?
What would yours say? ...
The journal entry
Seven days has since went by that the sound I love was heard
Had I had knowledge of this pending absence I would have prepared
Memorized the sounds, the rhythm, the hum of it all
Relished in the moment when my eyes last focused
To see it clearly on the screen of my mind
Play it on the speakers in my head... forever.
The random thoughts
One more sigh, one more moment, one more touch
A lifetime of dreams, fantasies, wishes gone
Lies, deception, passion, unknown moments
Secrets, doubt, rejection, fear
Brick walls, stone hearts, no turning back
The mysterious letter
Dearest Passing Introspection,
It is with a heavy heart that I write this letter. I'm not writing it for you or to you... I am writing it for me. Never has something felt so real then seemed like a dream. I still wake up and see you there. I hear your voice and see the images in songs. I see them in the words of novels, played out on the television screen. It's all around me. It's so real. So desired.
Maybe the images, words and sounds will fade with time, and maybe they won't. I don't think they will because it's the innermost, deepest, extremely surreal feeling from deep down, buried behind the brick wall inside the stone chest surrounded by cement. I didn't know it was there, it echoed faintly and was chissled out, fighting, forcing, seeping... pulled 'til it was free. It was free. It soared lightly at first, released into the cushioned air soaking up the surroundings and testing each space. Unbelievable. I.couldn't.believe.it.
I embraced it, released it, shared it and it was stolen, abandoned. Kicked. Bruised. I see the flutter of it still, the unsteady heartbeat, the lost pieces and I sweep up the remnants. Hold them tenderly and bloody my fingers trying to put the pieces back. I push and squeeze it all back into the stone chest. Slam the lid, pour the cement, build the wall and with sweat trickling down my brow and burning my eyes, I stumble, fall and slouch - exhausted and spent.