|| Dear Diary || Some Poetry.... #2 on love and letting go....

The White Room The white table it stands alone in a large space. White, white, I see white, all around. All around. Upon the table resting, two hands flat with fingers spread, a chair, a person sitting on it. His back straight, his head tilted down. He stares. the person. Down. At the table. A carved wooden box. Stands between his hands. It’s closed. He stares. the person. Down. At the box. In a moment, and with a sudden rustling sound his attention is drawn to a corner of the room. He gasps. He listens. Yet again, the sound. And without moving his hands his gaze shifts to where the sound came from. Slow. Slow. Slow. Nothing. He sees nothing. Just the bright white room that seems without wall or floor or ceiling. Then he sees it, her face. her face appearing like a ghost out of thin air. She looks at him and smiles. He sits frozen. Frozen. She speaks, one word: Love. She repeats: Love. his eyes, they become moistened with the memory. The realisation that past has gone and the future he had thought up will never be. Again. She speaks: Love. He wants to stand, to walk, to run, to scream, to look the other way. But it’s like some invisible force holds him down, has grasped his head between two invisible hands forcing him to look at her face. Look at her. Still beautiful. Beautifully still. All he can muster is to speak one word; Don’t his mind thinks Don’t come back Don’t linger here Don’t hold me as your hostage in the love you took away Don’t A tear rolls down his face. He knows it’s only his own mind that’s opening the floodgate, that’s hanging on, that’s so unwilling to let go. His heart he gave away. But she, she’s only there because he put her there. He put her there. In the corner of this white room, this room without beginning, without end. And he, he glued his hands, he placed the table, he placed the chair. But how. How does the cycle end. Why does it die when I, when she, when we…… Why. How. The box, still stands, his gaze is back upon it. His thoughts are with the question what could lie inside. He remembers, oh how could he forget. His heart, he took it out, he placed it there. Scared to feel it in his chest. Scared to give it and then get it given back. Scared to have it broken in it’s tender state. In it’s fragility he put it there. Safe. Safe. To keep it safe. In this room, in this box, keep it safe. But in this box it cannot breathe. In this room it cannot grow. In this space it cannot be contained. And he knows. He knows. So how does the cycle end, he thinks, his thoughts, convoluting past and future and all the moments that won’t ever come back again. His mind. His mind. It’s the cage, it’s the trap. Set it free, let it be. because he will never know what’s next Even if he thinks he does, even if he thinks. His heart still wants to beat inside his chest. It wants to love with all the love that it’s got left So set it free, and give it blood, and give it air to breathe. She stands behind. Her hand it rests upon his shoulder and she says: I know you can. I know you will. Let go. Let go. Let go.

#Poetry #DearDiary

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