Friday, 13 November 2015

Mistakes

The door opens and I, with a heavy mind, raise my eyes while my head remains prostrated towards the ground. The rain pounds the surrounding area with unrelenting force, with guile, filling my ears making the words to follow all the harder to reach. I've been rehearsing this moment. I've been reflecting my thoughts into the universe, hoping, denying, relying on the unspoken to find its home but, as with many things, sometimes you just have to rise above it all, be brave, then do it yourself.


I start to speak the words that have been burning my soul.

There’s no excuses, there are no other people to blame, no other sources to direct the vast glares of the people involved. It’s just me, my blame, playing stupid games, trying to be a man while falling for the part of the boy. Please understand, please view me with more than a thought, as I'm new to all of this and, in all honesty, a small bit na├»ve. 




The rain ceases for a second as a brief spark rises within my heart. My eyes, you see, are not used to the sight of your beauty within this world. Yeah, I know, we've all heard the story before. Boy meets girl, girl meets boy, they chat, they laugh, they flirt and then… then… you know the rest. Words are shared, moments are spoken, you resolve your affections by creating connections and, then, you move forward.


That’s what’s supposed to happen, that’s what we believe, this is the natural order of things but, on occasions, we falter and we fail. It’s often difficult to do the right thing. Or so we say. It’s actually incredibly easy to do the right thing but, often, we simply don’t bother.  I want to do the right thing, I truly do, but I fight a battle within myself every single day. Do I let go of being a man, do I let go of being a boy, relinquishing the worldly binds that keep me grounded? Maybe I should just be me, the person that you know, with no pretence, no aspirations to be something that I'm not.

As children we look into the eyes of our parents with such love, such respect, as they’re holding our every design within the palms of their hands and, due to this, we’re eventually left to find our own place in the world. We’re set free or, on the other hand, let go and ignore what we’re offered. Either way we’re here and they’re there. We’re now the adults. There’s no instructions, no guiding hand, nothing more than two people fumbling around like two lovers in a car. We mess up, we don’t initially get things right but, after a short time, we’re running like a steam train at full power.


Anyway, now that I've blathered on for a while, now that I'm soaked to my skin, I basically came here to apologise. I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry. I'm not a boy any more and I should never be a boy until our children call for such things. I'm not going to say that I'm a man. No. I'm not. That honour arrives when I have responsibility within the world and looking after myself can never be called such a thing. I'm… me. I just hope that’s enough. I will be whatever you need me to be when the times comes.


I'm sorry that I said the wrong thing


I'm sorry that I didn't act when the play basically gave me the script.


I'm sorry that it takes me knocking at your door at this time of night, in the rain, just to say…





I love you.






Note:
(It's felt odd writing this as, while I'm thinking of what to write, I'm also wondering if it'll sound fine when recorded)

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