He is Numb.

He is Numb.

He feared he’d never be there again. There he lies, staring; staring at the ceiling thoughts racing while at the same time his mind is blank. He wonders why he is there alone and forgotten. Why is he alone at a time like this?

It’s nearly morning, but why should that matter? There is no reason for him to get up. He rolls over slightly and thinks of her. No, she is not the one who got away, just the one he never pursued. He was young and she was not. He was alive and excited. She was apprehensive and disingenuous. He was a good listener, she needed to talk. When she didn’t need to talk she often made him laugh. He and she were almost a perfect couple or at least they should have been.

She, wanting something more, but not of him, went in search of it. Not having the ability to express himself, he sat and watched. This is what is on his mind when all else fails. This is what he considers, when there is nothing to look forward to and nothing to look back on, because he never made a move and with this he lies in bed.

He tosses, he turns, and he settles. His mind is clear now breath is calm, he is thirsty though. He rises from bed and stumbles to the kitchen. He is fully dressed from the evening passed. He makes his way into the kitchen. He flips the light switch even though he knows nothing will happen. His lights have been out for some time now. Habits are hard to break, flipping of a useless switch, drinking when all else fails. Obtaining a glass he is fine, drinking his water he is content and as if it never stopped he thinks of her once more. Moving from water to something a little more suitable for this feeling, his habits emerge once more. Drown the feelings he never let swim. Drown the memories of her so they will not resurface.

She was meant for great things. He was meant for mediocrity. He tries to imagine these things, involving himself, involving them together. He cannot. They are not together, nor have they ever been, or ever will be. Thinking of her, he remains unable to sleep. With this he drinks some more. He is now located on his kitchen floor, he lays. Lying awake he tries to stop thinking of her, of anything. He cannot. His only remedy is to continue drinking. So he continues.

Proof doesn’t matter when you have none of your existence. Proof doesn’t matter when you intend to consume the entire bottle and that he did intend on doing such. Stumbling to his feet from the cold harsh floor he makes way to the other end of the hall. He moves slowly and missteps. He hiccups and he burps. He fumbles for the door and struggles to open it. It is a struggle he chooses not to compete with; he places his back to the wall and slowly slides to the ground. Placing his head in his palm he sobs, and he cannot think while he cries and he is happy for that.

His mind is finally clear as he passes out on the floor outside his bathroom door. He is no longer thinking of her and he is no longer able to think. As he lay there, covered in his tears and dressed in his clothes from the night past he is no longer able to feel. He is asleep, he is numb.

Overthinking, overthinking...

Incomplete...

I can't sleep I have no outlet.
I keep too much in, there's no one here.
No one to hear me.
She was wonderful once I think...

What happened to that?
She would be happy just to see me.
Now a present is what makes her smile.
Bearing gift, I come to give them.
To see her smile is worth it, I thought.

Now I think this isn't true.
Now I would give anything to see my smile, with just her.
No one else, she would be perfect.
We have been together so long, it would be easier to stay.
Wouldn't it be?

Will I be able to find anyone new?
I'm difficult. I'm average. I'm stubborn.
I joke too much, work too much, and don't complain...
Okay, I complain.
Who will want me?

How can I say goodbye to a safe thing?
How do I say goodbye to something familiar?
I will miss this regardless.

Story of a Lonely Guy

Story of a Lonely Guy

A man at peace, a woman in mourning. A family in pieces, a family gathered one morning. With her by his side he remembers the end. He doesn’t however remember his. He remembers theirs.

Bang, bang, bang. The scampering of little feet, then laughter. Then a voice yells, “wake up, you’re going to…” The voice is cut off. “Stop! Just, let me, what? Where? Hold on, just stop talking!” He fumbles for his alarm clock finds the snooze button and presses down, sweet release from a hellish ordeal, he thinks.”What, what was, what is it?” “I was just checking if you needed to be up, your alarm was going off for a while.” He replies, “Wh-yeah I was, it wu… yeah.” He lies in bed till she leaves.

It’s both strange and sad being woken by an alarm. Your body knows you’re not done sleeping, you’re mind is dreaming, your body is resting, but your ears are saying “why now?” It’s kind of amazing how sad the feeling of waking up from a good dream is. Those few seconds you have a vivid picture, you’re content. The seconds after in which you forget them, you’re indifferent with the realization, “I’m no longer dreaming, this is my life.”

Some time goes by and he finally gets out of bed. He’s groggy, but complacent he has a routine. He thinks of his life is a show of sorts, low ratings not a great chance it’ll be renewed. Here’s hopes to it will have a cult following on DVD. In spite of this he continues his routine. He used to be able to get ready while she was home; he used to be able to do a lot of things, with her. She hasn’t returned his affections in some time.

They have children now, plural. They’re a blessing, as he remains cursed. Blessing being a word of loose meaning. A word possibly meaning the term “c’mon baby just the tip,” and swiftly followed by “you know it feels better without one.” You can see where this leads; this is why he sleeps in.

This one was lucky; a future accompanied by a side of fries was not in store for him. Just that of his children, to eat of course. A boy who could work was not in need of schooling, a girl who couldn’t work had nothing but her school work. This aside they had each other. That is until she had someone else, where he was left with no one.

His love though immature, was thorough. You’d think he had won the lottery the way he had showered her with affection. Affection being free that was what he could afford to offer her. You would have thought it would last forever. The way he looked at her the first time she came into his life was the same as the day she left his life. Love may be blind, but when love is no longer there it will also leave one deaf. No matter what he said to keep her in his life she could hear no word of it. She had found another. He was left alone, where she just up and left.

For some time they remained friendly. It was to be done for the sake of their family, resentment built, but love however had never depleted. He had loved her, the same way he did years after her departure, the same as the day he met her. A tainted youth is a wasted youth. If only mistakes could be forgotten without undoing said mistakes.

He will never think of his life, laying blame. He will never think of what could have been. She will start anew. She will build toward making what should have been. He cares solely about the past however does nothing to protect it. Whereas she wants so badly to move on but nurtures every aspect of it.