The Silence That Killed Me

Today, I hold on to your whispering sing-a-longs (because that’s what kept me awake).

A journey, with expectations and the like. None of us were confident, but we arrived at our destination to joyous news that we all chuckled at and would remind ourselves of it when the biting cold was too much to bear.

But it was the silence that killed me. The dead air between us where I expected stunning conversation, full of sideways glances like they always are. Today, however was different.

Was you or was it me? Your body was two feet away from mine but your mind was a hundred miles away in a different time. Reminiscing about the last time you made this trip perhaps, with a completely different group of people. I know the feeling, you aren’t alone.

Then there was that brief moment, in the midst of the throbbing crowd where you looked up into my eyes and I looked down into yours and for that brief moment there wasn’t a thousand screaming fans way to close for comfort, there wasn’t the loud thump of the bass drum of the screeching singing, where it was just you and me. The world stopped, the world went mute, and my peripheral went blind. A spark formed, right there in the midst of sweat and blood and beer. That spark settled deep into my spirit and it warmed me and told me “this is where we belong, it will all be alright”.

But it was the silence that killed me. Soon after we were separated by the crowd like in a bad chick flick. I tried to get back to you but I just couldn’t, the crowd was too dense, the noise was too much.

And it was the silence on the return trip that killed me. It was obvious, how you would zone out and you would instantly be in another place and another time. How I wish I could’ve joined you. I wanted so hard to just extend my hand and grab yours and bring you back to the world of the living and the present time, but I was scared. Scared of the consequences of perhaps moving too quickly, of maybe distracting you from what you thought was important. So I didn’t. I focused on the white reflectors on my side of the lane and drove, drove for what seemed like years but was only hours. I took you home and I hoped, I prayed that we could exchange some form of goodbye that would be meaningful, that would make up for my lack of pursuit these past weeks. But none came. You were getting out of my car, but in your mind you were somewhere else. You were no where near me in any way, shape, or form except physically.

I drove home and stretched out on my bed, knowing I would be waking up in five hours and that you would be awake at that moment too. All the cheesy and romantic things I ever thought of came flooding into my mind, of what I could do to possibly make this worth while. I walked out on my porch, numb to the horrible cold, and looked to the sky, wondering if you were looking up and seeing the same stars I saw.

I fall asleep with you on my mind. I can almost feel your soft, cold lips pressed against mine even though I have never felt them. At that moment I decided that I have gotten the crap kicked out of me by love. I never want to admit it, but I can’t hold it in any longer. I woke up and the first thing I saw was your beautiful face in my mind’s eye and I was terrified of the possibility that we can never be together.

But then I read what you said, about crying and weeping over the past year and the differences between the then and now and I can’t help but think it’s all my fault. I was the one that brought you back to that spot and brought back memories apparently you didn’t want. At that moment, I cried with you. Cause I have been there. I know the feeling of the blackness ever consuming. You were there to bring me out, and now I hope I can be here for you.

Sitting here, I just wish we could be back in that crowd, with your body semi-willingly pressed against mine by the crowd and your eyes (which could outshine the sun, no contest) gazing into mine, where we were both in a world devoid of anything else, and you didn’t have to remember the memories that brought you so much pain.