~ I've Got Some Imperfections, But How Can You Collect Them All And Throw Them In My Face?

I figured that the reason why I kept getting so afraid of you, haunted by you, is because, I believed you were right when you said all that you said about me.

But you were wrong.
You always have been wrong about those.

And, THAT, is what I believe.

Shattered glass is shattered glass, yes; but nobody is condemned for life.

Powerlessness.

Do you ever feel that, in order to make someone understand who you are or what you do, you need to give them the details of your story? But you think that they wouldn't want to know. And, well, you aren't exactly wild about saying all that either. Then how do you explain yourself? What metaphors, similes, idioms are powerful enough? None.

Music

"I'm willing to let you in if you promise not to let anyone else in on it," he said.

I gave him my word. He believed me, but said he would wait until he thought I was ready.

I was afraid he would change his mind. I also wondered if he would even remember.

Days passed.

The songs did not reach me.

But he gave me something else, not any less precious. I cherished it. I am cherishing it now. His words written beneath the hard cover. His signature. And the story that lies within. Not just the writer's, but of our own shared time and space. At least that was what he said.

The next day he told me he had left a little surprise for me. And that was the last time I spoke to him. I typed in my all too familiar username and password. There it was. Seventeen tracks. Seventeen secrets that we were now sharing.

I drown myself in them everyday. I have them on repeat. And when I don't, I'm absorbed by the story. I take it slow, not wanting it to end. Now I'm seeing true music, not just in the songs, but in the words that form the story in the book.

And I miss him, needless to say. The other day, I realized that he is my third favorite man in the whole world. That is a big deal, isn't it? I just wish he would be here again.

~ You put me on a shelf, and kept me for yourself, I can only blame myself, you can only blame me. ~

The 9th of December came to her for the fifteenth time. She was looking up directly above her, at the ceiling-fan, which was being forced to rotate even on such a wintry day. When he spoke, his voice, as intended, was muffled by the relentless groaning of the fan.
"Your tone and expressions are a lot like - " he trailed off a bit before he found the word he was looking for. He compared her to a fictional character from a book, a movie. Immensely satisfied with the comparison he had just made, he smiled widely. She knew he was trying to say more than just that; in a way he had just made a jab at her own character, but she pretended to remain oblivious to the indication and simply smiled back. It was the easiest thing to do. He said a few other things, but she was no longer listening. She was still looking above her, watching the rotations, as her mind kept venturing back to earlier that day, to a setting completely different from the one she was currently in, with people completely different from the one who was accompanying her now.

..................................

They had had a few things to say, specially him. She couldn't remember the last time she had had an actual conversation with him, but now, thanks to one person in the middle, they had been made to talk. He sounded puzzled, bewildered... guilty, even. Of what, he had wanted to know. Rightfully, too. No, he was not guilty. She told him she, herself, was. But a part of her knew it wasn't her either. Nor was it the one sitting in between them, trying her best. She just didn't want to name the person who came to mind while they were pointing fingers. She was trying to protect him from the pointers. Why, she wondered  for a split second, and then dismissed the pondering. This was just how it was, how it had been.

...................................

Deciding that she had finally seen enough of the rotating fan, she rolled on to her side, still silent. He raised an eyebrow, as if waiting for her to say what was on her mind. She hesitated slightly, almost told him about her conversation from that morning, then decided against it. Naturally. Instead, she just smiled again, pulled herself up, tied back her hair and stepped into her shoes.