Forever Love
A darkened room: the only light comes from the smoldering embers of a spent cigarette. A lone figure sits, hunched over, head in hands. The figure slowly rises, crossing to an open window. The distant sounds from the street far below, combined with the pounding of the rain, echo loudly in his ears. He grabs the edge of the window, slamming it closed with such force that it rattles within its pane. Flicking a switch, a dim light brightens the room, unveiling the identity of the mysterious figure. Clad only in a pair of low-cut leather pants, a silver-studded belt, and a black choker around his neck, he cuts a striking figure. Approaching six feet in height, he is stunningly beautiful; flawless golden skin, sculpted chest and arms, high cheekbones and full lips. Only the bottle of Jack mars his beauty, hanging limply from his hand, half –empty. Taking a deep swig, he walks, staggering slightly, back to his seat. Setting the bottle down, he buries his head in his hands, biting back the tears that have threatened to fall all night long. Breathing deeply, he regains his composure for the time being. Eyes still closed, he reaches out, running his hands along the instrument in front of him. Long, elegant fingers, fingers which once danced across bare skin, now danced only across ivory. The fingers slammed upon the keys, pounding out the melodies that he had not played in years. His voice, soft, smooth and luscious, gave life to the lyrics he had written so long ago. He never sang the songs he wrote; he put everything instead into the piano. In the dead of night, the only audience that ever heard his voice was the silence. His voice begins to waver and tremble, his fingers shaking ever so slightly. The emotions, buried deep inside, finally overpower him. His carefully crafted mask crumbles as the sobs rip forth from his chest. Slamming on the keys, he collapses upon the piano. He sits there, unmoving save for the rapid rise and fall of his chest, as the tears continue to fall. After what seems to him an eternity, the sobs stop, replaced by a strange calmness. He sits up, tilting his head to the ceiling. Light reflects across the tear-tracks streaking his cheeks, and eyes of amber open, standing out in stark contrast to the black makeup surrounding. Breathing deeply, his fingers pick up the melody that he had so abruptly abandoned.
He was alone; had been alone for years. No one could ever seem to fill the gaping hole in his heart. Add to that the fact that he had practically been a recluse for several years, well, that wasn’t exactly conducive for meeting people. It was only a couple years ago that he began to go out amongst the living again. However, he no longer played music for anyone but himself.
He could feel a heaviness in the air. All night long he had felt as though there was a presence, that there was someone watching him. Picking up the pack, he absentmindedly pulled a cigarette from the box. Lighting it, he raises the cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply. Still drunk, he wanders around his apartment, trying to shake the feeling of being watched; trying to set his mind at ease. This night was always the worst night of the year. And every year the paranoia, the grief, and the agony only seemed to increase. The pain did not fade with time. He made this walk every year. He knew no matter how much he wished, no matter how much he desired and longed for, that no one was there.
Upon completing his rounds of the apartment, he stops in the kitchen, and grabs a beer from the refrigerator. The alcohol is the only thing that fills the void inside; the only thing that helps him get through the day.
Making his way back to his piano, he stumbles and falls to the floor, not bothering to get up. Even in his drunken state, he notices the feeling of being watched is still there. Experience tells him that there’s nothing there: that the feeling should have left him by now, but he can’t help but hope that maybe this one time, she’ll be there.
The figure on the floor stirs. Several hours have gone by, hours spent in a drunken unconsciousness. Blinking his eyes and brushing several blond strands out of his face, he rises to his hands and knees, not yet daring to attempt climbing to his feet. Feeling a cool breeze, he closes his eyes, letting it blow across his face. Suddenly, he feels a sickening plunge in his stomach as he realizes that the wind is blowing through the window he had slammed shut. Feeling temporarily sober, he climbs to his feet, looking towards the window. Looking at a figure silhouetted in the moonlight. Feeling as though his veins have turned to ice, he forces his feet to move, steering him towards the nameless figure. Standing directly behind the figure, it turns, and he cries out in shock when he realizes that it’s her. Feeling as though he’s been punched in the stomach, he tries to catch his breath, his eyes never leaving her face. A face that is unchanged; remaining exactly the same as when he last looked upon it, ten years ago to the day. He tries to speak, but all words fail him. She smiles softly at him, that impish smile that he always adored. Moving closer, he reaches out to caress her cheek. And with his fingers centimeters from her face, the figure fades away into nothingness.
He collapses to the floor. The window is closed; it had never even been opened. His body begins to tremble as he realizes that she was never there; that it was all just the product of his drunken imagination.
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He stands on his balcony, the pouring rain cascading down his lithe frame. He leans against the railing, his fingers running along the blade of the object in his hand. He stares at the razor, contemplating. He can’t count the number of times he’s been in this position over the years. Tilting his face up to the sky, he softly sings a couple lines from a song:
“Endless rain, fall on my heart, in this wounded soul.
Let me forget, all of the hate, all of the sadness.
Endless rain, let me stay a memory in your heart.
Let me take in your tears, take in your memories.”
Sinking to his knees, his soaking wet hair hangs in his face. His eyes remain locked on the blade; he presses the cold steel into the ball of his thumb, not even wincing as it penetrates the skin. A single drop of blood runs down his wrist and arm, and drops to the ground. Pressing the blade to his wrist, he steels himself for what he is about to do. Closing his eyes, he is assaulted by images and memories from the past. His breath quickens, and his heart begins to beat rapidly. With an anguished cry, he turns and flings the blade into the depths of his apartment. As much as he wants the pain to be gone, he cannot commit to the selfish action of taking his own life.
Climbing to his feet, he wanders back inside his dark apartment, not even bothering to close the door behind him. Leaving wet footprints behind on the tile floor, he walks to the kitchen, pulling out a chair and taking a seat at the bar. Deep in thought, he lights up a cigarette from the pack sitting on the bar. His addictions have only grown deeper over the years, and the random packs of cigarettes lying all around the apartment seem to prove this. Along with the full liquor cabinet, and the lack of barely anything edible in the fridge and cupboards. Reaching over, he picks up a notebook, flipping to an open page. The book is almost completely full of letters and songs he had written. Besides getting drunk, this is how he worked through his grief, by writing. Grabbing the nearest pen, he begins to write on the paper. As he gets farther down the paper, he brings to write faster, his pen scribbling frantically across the paper. With his face only inches from the paper, he suddenly shoves the book away from him, breathing harshly as though he had just run a mile. Getting to his feet, he walks to a drawer, opening it and pulling out an envelope. Returning to his seat, he takes what he has written and seals it in the envelope. Pressing his lips to the envelope, he walks to the door, grabbing a jacket and throwing it over his shoulder on the way out.
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He stands at the edge of a lake, hands deep inside his pockets, his hair whipping around his face because of the wind. It is dawn now; the sun is just breaking over the horizon line. Taking a deep drag, he exhales slowly, the smoke drifting upwards towards the heavens. His eyes, hidden behind an expensive pair of designer sunglasses, are clear. He stares off into the distance, for once truly enjoying the solitude. He leans against a tree, removing the envelope from the pocket of his jacket. Reaching deep into the pocket of his pants, he removes a lighter. With a flick of the wheel, the flame springs to life. Hesitating for a fraction of a second, he makes up his mind. Touching the flame to the corner of the envelope, he watches as the flames devour it. As it burns, he watches as the ashes drift, carried away upon the breaths of wind. As the dying flame burns close to his fingers, he releases what’s left into the wind, and watches as the ashes of his letter are scattered across the lake, disappearing. Turning to leave, his eyes catch on something; a figure, one that is barely there. Even from a distance, he sees a ghost of smile grace the face of the figure, before vanishing. Once again turning to leave, he realizes with a slight shock that he is smiling, the first smile in ages. Feeling freer, his mind turns to the letter, and he understands that he can now go on living.
“Ten years. Ten years without you. They all think I’m crazy for not moving on. Hell, maybe they’re right, maybe I am crazy. Sometimes I think it’s more than likely. Every day without you a small part of me dies, and soon I fear there will be nothing left. However, that’s not what you want, is it? I don’t know if I imagined seeing you tonight, or if it was real, but regardless, I know what I must do. I must move on. The look in your beautiful eyes, in your smile, told me that. I can no longer dwell on the past, and on what could have been. Although I will never forget, and will never stop missing you, I think I can finally live again.
‘Swing the heartache – Feel it inside out
When the wind cries – I’ll say good-bye
Tried to learn, Tried to find
To reach out for eternity
Where’s the answer – Is this forever
Like a river flowing to the sea
You’ll be miles away, and I will know
I know I can deal with the pain
No reason to cry
Crucify my love – If my love is blind
Crucify my love – If it sets me free
Never know, Never trust
That love should see a color
Crucify my love – If it should be that way’”
