the threads in her head

The tiny insubstantial threads of emotion floats lightly about; bobbing, swaying gently from one corner of my heart to another. Such is what once-highly intense, sometimes almost painful emotions have been reduced to with the effect of time and events. Just little wisps of grey smoke from a dying fire.

Absence, makes the heart fonder, so they said. And I guess it is true at times, if you keep up the memories, and know that one day absence will turn to presence. Hope and absence makes for a sweet cool drink. But, with no reminders, and with no hope, the distance just grows.. exponentially even. Till there seems to be a wide gaping chasm between us.

I sit on the bank of the chasm, and look at you, so little a figure in the far distance. Paper aeroplanes that contain my messages to you are thrown over, but the distance is so far they don't reach you, but drop into the deep dark chasm. And my eyes watches them fall, a lone plane of white descending into unknown darkness, never to meet your eyes.

And it hurts a little. But it used to hurt even more. With each aeroplane thrown and the certainty of no replies, it hurts less and less. It almost feels like a school lesson in no expecting anything. I think I'm learning pretty well, though I'm still quite bad at it. It's a good thing that I'm making improvements, because it is a lesson that probably needs to be applied quite a lot of times throughout life.

My eyes are lifted back to you, and you are just carrying on your daily tasks and chores, making new friends, smiling, laughing, making a fool out of yourself. But I'm learning, and the ache is subsiding. Still, I sit myself on the edge, and pull my legs up towards me, and rest my head on my knees and look at you. I try to fix my vision onto your eyes, your forehead area.

But I see nothing. Your thoughts, are closed to me, which was how it has been for quite a while already. How different it is. Yet it has been so for so very long.

I don't think I really want it to be this way. But how would I feel if it was any different? I don't know. Are there things called fresh beginnings? Or is it just not meant to be? But what are the use of such questions, when you are already caught up in the activities of your dreary life, the details of which I do not know.

Am I seeking to know about the details of your life? That's not it, not fully. I'm not asking for a storyteller. It's more than that..

To be in the precious position of a close friend. That's what I would like to be. To think I still want to be so when the all that is left seems to be glowing red embers. Yet this is the thought that still runs through my head.

Yes, you say I am, but such words are empty and hollow, just standing on its own. Without actions, it's plain meaningless. A shell of nothingness.

How does one's mere presence brings about such?

... your thoughts are closed, but I have the feeling it's the same for you. Wordless actions says much.