Some things are better left alone, Some things must be remembered

May 29 07:30 UTC 1995

The phone rings for the seventh time
My eyes open slowly and the room drifts into my consciousness
I sit up and reach for it 
But it stops on the eighth ring and I'm left sitting here with my arm outhed
like a puppet on a string I smile at the thought and the flutter of truth
behind it I let my arm fall back down to the chair Reluctantly I get up and
walk to the window It's a beautiful day The sun is shining and I can hear birds
singing in the trees I wish it were raining  There's no reason to go out unless
it's raining I turn away from the window and walk into the kitchen Out of habit
I reach for the refrigerator door But then I remember that I left it on it's
side when I went to sleep a few hour ago I walk into the next room and close my
eyes as I remember the vow I made last night Never to enter this room again I
press my hands into my eyes so that I can see nothing the room has to show meI
start to laugh thinking of myself standing here like this Then my knees buckle
and I fall back against the wall  I keep thinking to myself 
        I can't look at them, I can't...
"remember." I whisper 
I bring my hands away and stand up
The first thing I see are the words on the wall
Written on a night much like last night
I walk over to my garden and stroke the flowers gently
Remembering in each the days they were given to me
I then sit in my chair and look at the typewriter and the great journal
So much has happened in the past months
So much I know I should be documenting
It's always that way though
Whenever we are apart nothing matters
Nothing is important enough to write down
I even reach out and almost touch the keys
But my hand will only go so far
I get up from the chair and begin searching for my old yearbook
I find it and turn to the only marked page
And there is her picture
To this day I will admit that it is an awful and outdated picture
But she's never given me another one 
Though I'm sure she would have if I had asked 
The picture reminds me of that year
That year that which was both awful and wonderful depending on how many times
you blink when thinking about it I have always loved her I don't believe I ever
had any control over that All I could ever do was denie it to her and myself at
every moment that it mattered And all that ever caused was pain for both of us
I close the yearbook and put it back on the floor Then I walk over to the shelf
and pick up the box Slowly I open it and look over it's contents  The day comes
back to me like a wave The plastic rod The penny The gold piece of packing
string I close my eyes and I can almost taste her lips on mine It all happened
so quickly When the memory finaly folds into itself I am left in the room once
more I pull the razor out of my pocket and place it in the box I put the box
back on the shelf and walk out of the room Then I walk into the bedroom and
look into the mirror The slashes on my arm remind me again of the razor I stand
there looking at myself  I want to scream
        Why can't you call her
        Why can't you talk to her
        That's all
        Why?

But instead of screaming I walk closer to the mirror and rest my head against 
it
Theres little point in screaming at myself
I've no reply to scream back
"I love you." I say say instead of screaming
After a few more moments I walk out of the bedroom and go back to the window
The sun is still shining and I can hear children playing in the playground 
I still wish it were raining
Perhaps it will rain tomorrow
Or maybe the next day

response 2 of 5:

Jun 8 13:39 UTC 1995

Very moving...sigh...but wonderful.