Bent Words

Bent Words

November 30, 2008

Within his eyes the notion to run resides.

And he runs because he does not know what to say. He runs because he cannot feel secure. He runs because it might not last and who wants to stick around to see it end? He runs because the spark of doubt lies ever-present within his soul and he fears the thought of being swallowed up by that flame. He runs because, to him, nothing is real and therefore not worth explaining.

He carries no obligations, save for the necessity of labor, for there, behind the expectations of others, crouches the burden of disappointment.

He makes no plans for no anchor can hold him and he will change his mind if only to assure himself he can.

He is a whim, a change of heart, a vision passing by your porch.

Perhaps, in a moment of imprudence, he will reach out. He might knock a few bricks down from the barrier he has built and seek out a glimpse of human understanding. You might make him laugh or lie quietly next to him. He might try.

And there you will see it, if you look hard, the hope hidden behind his eyes. The gentle sweep of his rough-edged fingers might touch you and possess you with the knowledge that makes him who he is. You might hear the drops of tenderness spoken with his words and you might marvel at the innocence buried with his intentions. You might get close enough to feel the struggle for the fury.

It will then be your surprise to know he loves.

But like a damselfly resting on your shoulder, he will be gone the very instant you flinch or make a sound.

And though it may not be worth it in the esteem of all who inquire, you remain still and calm your beating heart for he may return.

Written at 12:35 p.m.