There is a romance to be had of all things wanting. A story to be found in all that is hungered for, and goes unfed. This is no masterpiece of theatre. No magnum opus. This is an episode of the unrequited. A tragi-comedy of but minuscule proportions.
Tonight, I want to write to you of longing. Of desire unmet. Of yearning unfulfilled. Tonight I want to write to you of you.
Act I, Scene I: there is a girl and there is a girl. One personifies the querulous expression of the love that cannot be. The other is mute.
Act I, Scene II: sparks in your hand, volts fly on eye contact. If you don’t want me don’t be looking at me that way. You owe me now.
Act I, Scene III: “I have a boyfriend.” “I have a girlfriend.” “I have issues.” “I have a conscience.” “I have… I have thought of nothing but you…”
Act I, Scene IV: What is it to kiss you? I imagine chocolate. And oranges. You touch me now, moving me from the inside. Gooseflesh within, sweat without.
Act II, Scene I: we complete each other’s sentences, we sleep like commas. Our togetherness is an unbroken parentheses. No full stops.
Act II, Scene II: I don’t normally do this kind of thing. What is normal? Is falling in love with friends normal? I don’t want to be normal. I don’t want to be just friends.
Act II, Scene III: you’re running your hands through my hair, now stained & streaked with silver. I’m meeting him. Does it wash off? Never.
Act II, Scene IV: my pick me up, my drop me off. My 24/7. What were days before you were this? What were nights but twelve hours of dark.
Act III, Scene I: What does one need to learn to not want to touch you? What does one need to know to not want to kiss you till you’re blue?
Act III, Scene II: I want silence with you. Silence broken only by the sound of your mouth making love to mine. Your lips. Use them everywhere I cannot see them.
Act III, Scene III: I stare at your face like a madman. Your loveliness has ruined me. Come back. Come back wherever you are. And take your wretched silence with you.
Act III, Scene IV: the sound of a phone unringing is louder than the cacophony of a hundred bells. All is quiet now. Love has run out of words
part-broken, part-whole 
Its a masterpiece of unimaginable proportion, of words that you want to keep reading again and again and again and again.
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this hit so close to home, I am hurting. beautifully hurting. I don’t mind hurting this way for them.
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Sara, what a beautiful thing to say and feel.
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🙂 even anger can be beautiful if one is in love.
I chanced upon your twitter, and have been secretly admiring your way with words. it’s lovely! keep it up, for the rest of us.
ps. I think my babe just said ‘mama’ for the first time as I type this, thought I would share, since we’re on the topic of beautiful things..
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Words also have a way with us. Especially those who handle them with a little more impudence than most. I am glad to share in your small joys, mama.
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“Who am I to you? Nothing. I can’t match my blood type to yours. I can’t tag your name as my surname. Nothing. What am I to you? I am nothing really. Yet I stand there as insignificant as an ant before the universe exclaiming that ‘I Love You’. Hoping against hope for a miracle to make me yours. So if I’m not a part of your name or your bloodline am I nothing to you? Am I not worth of being loved by you? Foolish are these lines but they pass as thoughts. Foolish because I love thee despite all these. And it will never fade. Never….” ~ excerpts from my one of my letters on Love written in silence
Love has so much to give and bear and take, that silence is all it can afford amidst the chaos…
Like always you have stirred something so basic, so simple and yet the most painful of all feelings. Sometimes the pain is all that makes you realise, it was REAL.
God Bless You 🙂
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Irene, I believe the universe always sends you what you need at exactly when you need it most. In this instance, it has been these words. I am grateful to have been of some use.
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Just couldn’t stop reading it again n again. Truly said, its beautiful!!
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