She was there and he refused to look at her.
And it annoyed him that he noticed her.
That he kept noticing her, in a sea of all the others.
But she made him notice her by subsisting underfoot.
And, oh Lord, it annoyed him that she was there.
Made him miss a step then stumble.
But he’s the one in control.
He won’t look at her. Not again.
But then he did.
And he saw her laugh. And he saw her sing. And he couldn’t stop thinking about her when he looked away. Couldn’t stop….feeling….something. An itch. A revulsion. Anything. Everything. Something. Twice. Then again. Another time. A different block. He needs her to look at him.
Then a second night came and she was there again. In his world. And this time he was angry. And curious. But mostly angry. Who let her in? Better yet … Now … Why did he even notice she was there?
So, he set about to ignore her.
In quite the grand fashion.
And she….didn’t notice.
And then they were together
side by side
and she had nothing to say to him.
He waited for her to speak.
Gave her the floor and a wide berth.
But…she had no words for him.
He scratched his beard.
Clawed out his eyes.
Bled his veins and they still didn’t speak.
He remembered the poetry.
How she calls him her muse..
And his skin, it did crawl. And his spine, it did curve, inward like hers. And he wanted to claw her eyes out.
Not a hello. Nor a goodbye. Nothing in between.
All of these truths exist. They existed. They will remain.
She’s alive and he is not happy and he made it known.
Because of his mouth and his eyes, his fingertips and brain: On a third day, quite the same as the others, she refused to look at him.
When he was there, her eyes were on another, his brother.
And he couldn’t stand it. And he couldn’t stand her.
And he couldn’t stand that he noticed her.
At all. Again. Afresh. Anew
All of this….everything about her…made his skin crawl.
And he could’t bloody stand it!
So he ignored her, while she ignored him and the moment passed and he went on and she went home and life….well, it continued quite nicely for both of them and there was nothing left to say, though so much should have been spoken. But he believes, and always will, that she should be beautiful. Stunning, perhaps, and she…this one: with too many words, nonsense day after day after day and ….then…no words at all…is not.
And he can’t stand it.