*A prose thing*
You were blonde, caring, but my feelings weren’t earned yet.
And You had green eyes, explored different things, but didn’t know what you wanted.
And You were the cold drops plastering the immovable concrete.
And You were the constant, prevailing wind that parsed me and left me near the sea.
There were more chances, more You-s, more unsaved files lost in the aether that I just hope I can recall one day. But it’s never ending. The mystery of the unopened book is so enticing, and every page unturned drives a further wedge into destiny. The destiny that I don’t believe in, but would like the opportunity to see come to fruition.
Every glance of her eyes to my lips, or their lingering hug, the lights that flicker in her eyes when she talks about what she loves, they all make me want and not, and leave me to rot in the cell of my imagination, restless but not completely unrealistic. I don’t want the world. I just want a chance to be something else that I’ve never been before and that in itself can be painful.
The stones’ weight has burdened me forever, and each pebble hoping to become a stone has eroded due to my choosing to polish what I had. But not every stone can be polished. And I have to learn how to expel the weight somehow. Maybe this is it.
Maybe it lies in the pebbles. Giving them something no one else does, a chance to not become someone’s stone. Helping them pull together and become a cohesive granite, a conglomerate far stronger than a stone.
It doesn’t help that I see the details, I see that she wasn’t glittered up just two hours ago. Only speaks in subtext, and says so much with that aura. She checked most of the markers that said she was ready to be a stone. Another even outright asked to be my stone. And I refused, but not due to knighthood, or some real goodness, or fear. But out of a sadness, that I’m not who I want to be, that I might become a stone myself if I’m not careful.
The pebble that knew that she was such…showed an awareness that inspired me, told me that I still have a path to tread, and I must define it now, despite my proclivity to make moves like a stone. I just don’t want any more regret. But maybe I just needed a pebble to tell me how to be a pebble again.