At the end of her biographical novel, Nervous Condition, Tsitsi Dangarembga notes that a woman needs five hundred pounds and a room her own to write. This phrase has stuck with me for over ten years now, and the older I get, the more it rings true. I find that I cannot write anything with my heart unless it is heavy, weighed down and full of something that cannot be expressed. It’s been an emotional few months and I have a room of my own…
**Never loved at All – A very long story**
“Old boyfriend, huh?” His words cut like a dull knife in the awkward silence.
I continue to stare out the window, at the sidewalk filled with passing strangers. “Worse”, I mumble, but my thoughts say so much more…
More like, an old one-sided relationship in which I’m completely infatuated but he doesn’t even realize it because I’m so good at hiding my feelings; or like an old I wish for once I lost all self-control and kissed him when he dared to stand so close.
If it had been an old boyfriend, running into him halfway across the country would be awkward at worst. There may be a brief silence, a sudden heartache, a feeling of anger. But at least there would be solace in thoughts of what was shared. Or, at best, there could be the realization of another reason why life is better without him. But, what have I got?
An old I still don’t know the feel of the touch of his hands… an old I wish I knew what it was like to hear him say, “I love you”… an old I’m such a great girl and he’s so glad we’re friends… an old everything about him still makes me feel like I’ll never be enough!
Where’s the solace in that?
A fat lonely raindrop splattered against the window pane, pulling me from my thoughts. I watch the trail of water slide down beyond my view, wishing I could join it. I sigh and finally reply, “Whoever said, ‘It was better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all’, was right”. I watch the silent trail for another moment, I whisper, “He’s an old never loved at all”.
**Signs of Little Significance – a very short intermission**
An open door
A hand on the small of your back
A kiss on the shoulder
A slow dance
A hand reached out in silence
A secret hug
A gentle squeeze
A moment of un-noticed silence
An eager smile
An un-ending conversation
An un-interrupted thought of happiness and joy
**Far Enough – a very sad ending**
There is a growing distance between us. I watch you across the divide and I want to yell, “Stay!
Far enough that you can hear my voice…
Far enough that I can see you smile…
Far enough that I can reach out and take your hand… and you can reach out and touch my back.
Far enough to know you’re close…
Far enough to say you’re far… enough…” But I don’t, I don’t say anything. I watch in silence across the growing divide as you go…
Far enough not to see me crying…
Far enough to know you’re far.