Prose for the Soul

My mind is blank. My capacity is limited. I no longer have anything to say. Instead of words, I shall use actions. Actions speak louder than words. A phrase that has always baffled me. Acting is not something I am skilled at. Rather, words are my preferred choice of communication. But perhaps in this case, I need to learn to make better use of myself and do something I’ve never actually done before: try. You say I don’t need to try, but I must. Not trying can not and will not cut it anymore. All good things must come to an end, but I want this to last forever. Nay, for even forever seems too short. I will stop myself here. I want to do more. I want to do more than just write to you. I want you to hear my words as I hold you. 

Always, dear.

They say a picture’s worth a thousand words. Well, I have no pictures of you. But I have memories. Memories of times so precious and rare that even a photo would not accurately describe such lovely moments. Perhaps it is for the best. I do not want to look back on such times. I want to look at the future. Moments that have yet to happen. I can’t predict the future, but I can hope. I hope for a future where you never have to leave. Where we can sit on the couch and watch your favorite show. Where we can lay down and gaze at the blue sky above us. Where we can look at each other and admire. Words are superfluous at this point. Why talk when we can listen? Listen to our hearts beating faster. Why not just enjoy the moment? And again, there will be no photos. 1000 words. 1000 words too many. I do not need words to make you mine. I simply need my arms and your body. I can not guarantee such a future, but I will hope for more moments like these.

I’ve not forgotten, merely rested. My fingers ache, but I shall continue to write. My hands, they tremble with anticipation. They feel the words around them, and I must satiate their needs. I grab one word, then two, then I slowly mend them into sentences. My hands are far from satisfied. They begin to grab more and more of these delectable words. Sentences soon become paragraphs. My hands, they have become full. I rest my hands in my lap, and begin to digest the story they have created. A wonderful tale of life has been placed right before me. I have forgotten long ago about this story, yet my hands have told me like it was yesterday. I was once a writer. A writer with an ambition to create the most beautiful symphonies. Now I am nothing more than an amateur. I no longer deserve these beautiful, delicate words. I am not that person anymore.

Take my hand as I lead you up this hill. The grass leans as the wind blows across our faces. Here, sit next to me as we look at the city ahead of us. The hustle and bustle of the cars and trains can not reach us here. Here, where we are alone and the world is our own for us to gaze upon. With you I feel free, independent. There is nothing that can take this moment away from me. You in my arms. Nothing has felt sweeter. The sun has begun to set, creating the perfect horizon for us to admire. The sun may set, but we will still be together through the night. Through the night and through the morning. Through the morning and through the day. Through the days and through the years. Forever intertwined, love.

I have forgotten how to write. Or perhaps that is the wrong choice of words. I do not know what to write about. No, that is still not right. I do know what to write. But my way of words cannot describe you. Dumbstruck, dumbfounded, or just dumb. Call me what you like. But my way of words is inadequate when I try to describe the feelings you instill in me. Your love has caught me off guard and I’m left sitting with a blank sheet of paper. Allow me to write to you. I apologize if these words do not capture your heart like you have captured mine. There is but one thing I need to write to you. I love you, my dear.

Where has all this darkness come from? A mind once bright has now become shrouded in uncertainty. The walls are caving in, leaving me no where to escape. The ceiling is as high as the eye can see, further preventing me from reaching salvation. Why has this started? The feeling is similar. Like an old friend paying a visit. This friend is foe. This foe knows the inner workings of my mind and how to tweak it to their liking. The gears have shifted the other direction, the grinding ringing in my ears. The walls continue to move in closer as I contemplate the end. “Is this it?” I ask myself. And in an instant, I am reminded of my purpose. At this moment, the walls have stopped, and a light can be seen through the top. I look toward the light, and my eyes are now open. I am awake.

If you were a book, I would never be able to put you down. I would take you everywhere, letting my hands turn your pages as I marvel over the words written inside you. I would keep you by my side at night and hold you first thing in the morning. I would never break you. I would keep your spine straight so that you may live longer. There is no need for a bookcase for you would be the only book I would read. I do not want to shelve you for you are too good of a story to be true. The words you bring fill my soul with wonder and ecstasy. Your cover only pulls me closer to you as I begin to read what you are really trying to tell me. They say not to judge a book by its cover, and I have not. It is what is behind your cover that continues to pull me in each and every time. My favorite part about this story is that it is unfinished. Allow me to continue the story, love. A story for us, perhaps.

Must you fall in love with me? Can you simply not fall into my arms so that I may hold you? Or perhaps fall down so that I may catch you? Falling in love with me is nothing. Perhaps you should fall for my words. My words are the true me. My words are who I am as a person. If you must fall, fall for the paragraphs I write. Fall for the verses I sing. Fall for the lines I have traced for you. I warn you, falling for me is not easy. I am flawed. And by flawed, I mean the silence that shrouds our conversations. In these moments, I am too astounded by the mere presence of you. You have the power to render me speechless, love. You are my weakness. My knees buckle, my palms sweat, and my face flushes. My throat runs dry as I attempt to fill your heart with words. Please forgive me, dear. I am not nearly as perfect as you. But I will continue to write and speak, for you deserve everything I have and more.

Your hands look lonely. Clasped, one over the other, quietly sitting in your lap. Here, let me keep them company. Allow me to fill the gaps between your fingers. How does that feel? Excuse me, but my hands are a bit cold. I hope that isn’t much of a problem. Look. My hands seem to perfectly fit between yours. I am glad. But wait, do you hear that? I think that is my heart beating. It’s getting louder. I apologize, this doesn’t happen very often. What was that? Yours is beating too? Well, this is a phenomenon. What should we do? I see, let’s continue holding hands. But what of our hearts? A kiss you say? I have heard that kisses are the first step to a person’s heart. Come closer. I can feel you breathing now. It’s pleasant. Our lips are interlocked and I can feel your hands caress mine. I can hear your heart beat against mine as we continue to kiss. Please, let me look at your hands once more. They seem happier. Each finger tracing the outlines of mine. Please, don’t ever leave me.

My symphony of words is lacking. The tone and pitch are fine, but where is the emotion? The soul? The feeling? I am conducting, but something is missing. They tell me my music is beautiful, but I do not see it. They tell me my message is clear, but I do not understand. Why am I unable to truly appreciate the sounds I create with my instruments? My ears, are they going deaf? No, it is something else. What of my heart? How does it fair? Perhaps that is my flaw. My heart is not in my music. What is a passion without heart? Passion. That is what is missing. My passion for my music has faded into nothing but an interest. I will change that. I will continue to conduct. I will play until my heart’s content. I will rekindle this flame and I will hear my music once more. I will feel the words that once made me whole. One day.