Disappearing Through The Silence (Guest Post)

I have spent the last 8 hours sitting on this chair, staring at this white canvas.

The walls that surround me are all white, they are spotless.

They are pure and innocent, unlike my demons.

I have black paint next to me. The canvas cuts deep in me as it pierces right through me. I know what to paint, but the kicker is…. I do not know how to paint.

See, I do not even know how to draw the simplest of figures.

But here I sit, wondering what the canvas would look like if I could paint my thoughts. Where would I start?

I think I would start with HER.

Would I be able to paint how soft her skin is? I melt every time I touch her. Her skin so soft like it was made by the heavens, but it contains so many secrets I yearn to know. Her skin encloses all that the world should but will never know. She lives in the dark for it is the only safe place she knows. Her skin contains scars that would scare most away, but it brings me closer. Her skin is perfect to the core, but the core is what she does not want you to see. She does not want you to see the madness behind the beauty. Her skin is the beauty that hides all that is wrong with her world. But all that is wrong is what makes her beautiful. Her real beauty is incorporated in all the chaos that she tries to run away from. When I touch her skin, I feel all the pain that has tormented her. But instead of running, I want to run my fingers through her. I want her skin to tell me the stories, that her mouth is too shy to tell. I want to sit on the floor with her and identify every invisible scar that burdens her. I could never paint that.

Would I be able to vividly paint her perfect curves? The curves the others lust for, but I admire as a piece of art. See they do not see her like I do. They see her as a toy, I see her as a work in progress. Her curves distract you from seeing her true beauty, they are lies created as a distraction from her reality. Her curves drive them to only want to be inside her without seeing the inside of her. They care nothing about her intellect, her strive to be great or even her struggle to put on a brave face and smile. They care nothing for her pain or her tolerance to pain. They care nothing for her inability to be disappointed anymore, for she has become numb to the feeling. Her curves make her look lustful when all she is after is safety. The safety she has been after her whole life, the safety where she can be loved unconditionally. Her real curves are incorporated in her journey to be the woman she was always destined to be. Those are the curves I lust for. Those are the curves; I could never paint.

Would I be able to paint how we lost each other? We were close, but never close enough. We spoke but never spoke enough. We hid more than we shared, which is a travesty. “What could have been” is silently lingering in the air. It lingers even when surrounded by the tension of someone else holding her. It creates a language only her and I understand, it is a code created by two people who don’t deserve each other. It is truly remarkable how a few unsaid words could cultivate in what turned to be a “what if ” nightmare. Could you lose someone you never had? Too complicated to be answered by mortal words that do not sting enough. Mortal words could never explain the alternate dimension two people go to when everyone else is around. Their own world where they run to so they could blame each other for what could have been, but never materialized. Where they confess to each other all the things they should have been brave enough to say in the first place. They run to the realm where they know it is too late but refuse to accept it. I could never paint the empty feeling of knowing what could have been.

It was never mine to lose in the first place. That is what I tell myself, whether it is true or not I will never know. What is true is the secret we share knowing that it was ours. It was ours to lose and yes, we did lose it. We lost what took time to create but never materialized. It was created by two people at two different points in their lives. It was created by two people who did not know what the other was creating. Is it not the ultimate irony of life? To only see what you had, after you lost it, but realized you never had it in the first place. It is the ultimate cliche, however this one is different.

This is two people who had their mouths closed off by insecurities and uncertainties, leaving them to walk away from each other. This is two people who deserve to lose each other without ever having one another. Now we sit in the despair of, is it too late to go back? To go back and say a few words to change the future. It is always too late, that I could never paint.

My hands are now covered with paint. The spotless walls are now covered with black streaks. What use to be pure spotless white walls, are now covered with the demons that her and I share. The only thing that is untouched is the canvas. I could never paint her, but I could paint the dimension we share. The safe place we run to when we see each other, so we could scream at each other for what could have been. I can vividly see us in the empty canvas holding each other, confessing all the words we should have said. But time has run out on us.

I say I am happy for her, but I am lying. I say that I am glad she found someone because my demons would have been too much for her, I am lying. I say I am glad she is happy even if it is not with me, I am lying. I say I wish she lied to me and did not tell me how she felt, I am lying. I say it is better to have some of her than none of her, I am lying. Instead I am standing here with painted hands, surrounded by marked walls, thinking about the lies I do not believe in no more.

You can Call it what you want, but I call it moving on. Slowly but surely, I call it moving on.

Still, I could never paint the words we never said. Sadly, we say them to each other now, in secrecy and silence.

For now, the “we” that should have been ours, will remain as empty as this canvas. The “we” that should have been ours, become Her and Him. But our demons will forever collide, when we cross paths. Even HE can not get in the way of that.

For more from the writer click here to view their site.

If you’re interested in being a guest poster on this site email me on: insomniacwithanaccent@gmail.com

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