Please Don't Leave Me.

How could the constant fear not paralyse you? The tangled knot your soul is, constantly contracting, making the task of untangling impossible. Never have I heard you cry out, but the pain at times must be unbearable. I watch in amazement how you endure. For what? The glory of survival or the duty that is painstakingly completed? This is what has been set out, this is what I have achieved. Except that which is set out can seldom be achieved solely through strong will. And you know. You know so well and that is why you cripple your soul. Force it to churn out ideas from a dry well. Mostly they are ideas not worth sharing. And you know.

Like a lover desperate from the prospect of being left alone you plead so convincingly. At first just quietly repeating the words, calmly, sadly. Then you gain momentum, see the ineffectiveness of your strategy and raise your voice to a level that almost hurts the ears. This is what you want. Can’t anyone give you what you want? You shriek, scream, you shout. You throw a tantrum, you plead with you hands, you beg with your whole body. You are on the floor in an uncontrollable sob, your mouth foams from the desperation. The tears mix with the dirt on the ground and your face becomes smudged. Those around you cannot calm you, you are beyond yourself. Have a glass of water, freshen up, but you will not give anyone the satisfaction of seeing the stream of tears stop. This is your endless fight, you will use every tool you have. You tire, this has been a play. The sadness has been sincere so the tears will never stop. But you quiet, you have been hushed enough. You break under the injustice of randomness. As we all do. But you do not want to be left. No-one does.   

Once again it is quiet in here, still. The night brings surprises, treasures. I have befriended these invisible creatures, they will come back to me. But fear keeps me on the edge. The day will come when I will have nothing more to say, when I will have no more words to say the things I still want. Inevitably the day will come. No matter how studious I am about the task until then. The rigorous routine, the mental exercises, the belief that somehow this betters me. How will you let go? How will I leave? Forget that once I have been able to put to paper all that I feel, all that I fear. You seem to want different things and I appear stuck. I am merely holding on to that which I know will escape me soon. Or late. The prospect is daunting.

This I want inked into my heart: please don’t leave me.