These Broken Walls

by kaleko

The autumns dance to the tune of the coming winter around here, like a moth to fire. Or perhaps more like a man holding another man hostage, pistol pointed to his head, threatening to cut his season short, urging him to dance a wild dance of falling leaves and unkind winds. That is what autumn is like around here.

And I used to enjoy it when you were here. The old buildings sat like strange guardians over us, and they were our temples. I could only imagine the wisdom that these old walls hold: marked with graffiti now, floor covered with glass.

A cold breeze sweeps through the room, bringing in leaves of every color with it and I can feel your ghost pass through me. It's like a frozen touch, and I know it is not meant as that. It is meant as a gentle caress but you have no hands, no fingertips, with which to do so. You speak to me through the old wind that passes through this place in the autumn.

It has been a year, you say.

I know. A long, quiet year, with many nights of being curled into my bed and holding onto the sheets so tightly because I knew if I didn't I could just drift into oblivion and cease to exist. Or perhaps that's just what I wished, to drift into sweet bliss, an oblivion deeper than the blackest hole, as omnipotent as any of our enemies collected.

That nothingness at night holds power over me, just like you do when I hear you whisper in my ear from the fall wind.

I wander around the room slowly, remembering what it used to look like: there had been a chair there, a chair that you loved and would curl up on with a book and go to sleep. I would walk in the room, then, and you would awaken, acting as if you hadn't been asleep at all.

I sometimes mused perhaps if I snuck up on you very quietly, I could catch your head nodded to the side against the soft velvet of the chair, lip hung open, hands still holding the book. But I never could sneak up on you, could I?

It's so sad, really, the way it just creeped up on you and took you away from me. And you had to be so stupid and arrogant to...

I feel you pushing at me, nudging me into silence. I could go on but it is useless to go on. It could only bring me to tears.

It's funny I say that. I say it everyday with you, everyday we talk about that-- about that thing that I can't say but you know damn well what it is so censoring myself is meaningless-- and you nudge me into silence. And then I always say how it will only bring me to tears.

It has never brought me to tears and I don't think it ever will. Perhaps I could pretend I don't say it because it would bring -you- to tears, but you have no eyes to shed tears with. Besides that, crying isn't true to your character.

And to be truthful, you don't have a brain either or anything with which to be really speaking to me, so I spend my afternoons speaking to this empty room, screaming at this empty room: this old, broken place filled with memories. I look for answers. I haven't gotten any yet, but I'll let you know when I do.

It is so ironic that the wind around here reminds me of you. You were always like the wind, arrogant and strong and so easily slipping right through my fingers. And sometimes cold.

But I'm not allowed to say that, am I? It's all about patting the ego now, just like before, covering up, like everything is okay and will be okay and has always been okay.

Right. So that's off limits.

Perhaps I can go back to the room. What used to be there? Wasn't it a desk or a table or something? I suppose it wasn't very important if I don't remember it.

Let's go for a walk.

This room we remember better, don't we? The kitchen. Not anymore, but it was, once. I never noticed it before but it was a very nice kitchen. It had nice linoleum and a very fast coffee machine on what used to be a counter, over there. The room looks much bigger now that it's empty.

More walking.

This room, just a shell of what it used to be. Half a wall missing, leaving me feeling exposed to the elements; to you. This is where we would sit and talk and sip coffee from the kitchen. This is where we would pretend that nothing was happening to me, or to you. This is where you kissed me after our argument and I pretended I didn't mind it.

This is where I kissed you back and have hated myself for it ever since, because my kiss was almost like a pat on the head, an "it's okay, even if you're being stupid I love you anyway".

And for the life of me I can't conjour up a lie strong enough to convince myself I didn't love you. I could always try telling myself you neglected me and mistreated me and betrayed me and abandoned me, but we both know that's not true.

...

Oh, don't be a stupid ass, it is -not- true. I neglected and mistreated and betrayed and abandoned me.

...

Oh, just shut up. I'm tired of being here and tired of coming to talk to you everyday when you're not here and there's nothing here and I'm just being stupid. For all I know you could be living in a nice place two miles from here just making me hallucinate for the hell of it.

And you know damn well it isn't true that you wouldn't do something like that. I really wouldn't put it past you.

Well.

It's getting late now, and it's getting cold, like it always does.

...

Of course I didn't mean it.

...Yes. *sigh* I'll be back tomorrow. You know me better than that, don't you? It's so sad, you always knew me better than I knew myself.

...No. I can't tell, really. I think it's bad, but I haven't figured it out just yet. When I do, I'll let you know.

Goodnight, lover.

*end*

back to Kaleko's stories | Dayspring archive | comicfic.net