
Empty rooms that echo as I climb the stairs
And empty clothes that drape and fall on empty chairs
Time doesn't change feelings in their truest form, only puts them in storage.
The couple sat and ate as the piano man played. The candle sat on the table and the flame danced to the music of the piano, but they paid it no attention. She was born to dance and dance she did. She swayed in the breeze, stretched to tippy toes and crouched to her feet, but they paid it no attention.
His eyes fell upon the flame with an intense gaze and she fell in love. His eyes reflected her light and sparkled with her passion. His eyes strayed and she danced only for him. The couple spoke and ate and laughed for an hour but soon grew weary. The flame knew this would be her last chance to act. She backed to the edge of her candle and leapt toward him. She landed on his coat and hugged him tightly and crackled words of love to him.
He jumped up in a fright and threw his water onto her. She cried out in a vicious hiss and her life ended in a puff of smoke. The couple paid the waiter and left.
The waiter saw an unlit candle on a table and lit it for the next couple and the flame danced to the music of the piano.
----------
I’m writing down my thoughts on paper planes, before letting them go and dropping them one by one into the sky. As they fall through the air, they'll land among the clouds and send ripples through heaven, and I’ll smile because I know that someone will pick up my thoughts eventually.
I’ll look at that ocean of a sky and wait until my planes disappear into the horizon, and I’ll wait and wait and wait until I see that someone perhaps has picked them up and read them, and decided to send one back. I’ll pick up that fragile sheet of paper, and read their thoughts, those beautiful things which humans dream up, and I'll smile.
Then I’ll place that plane back into the sky and watch as it floats off to join the others.
Maybe one day, my planes will come back to me.
----------------------------------
Inspired by Serendipitous conversations with long lost Friend
I was walking in the park one day.
I saw an old man sitting on the bench with the worst frown I have ever seen.
I was feeling pretty good and decided to greet him "Good Morning.".
There was no reply, but as I decided to leave, he started to mumble.
I was about to dash off when it hit me that the old man might be senile,
But his words suddenly sunk in, and I silently listened to him talk.
Perhaps just to himself.
"I hate children.
Irresponsible, time wasting, ungrateful idiots
When will they grow up and see that the world isn't such a great place.
Why do you waste your time with hopes and dreams,
That you soon learn was all false hopes.
Once society has you within its grasps,
You'll see that this stupid world isn't as fun as your little childish adventures.
Why don't you grow up and stop questioning what had been and always will be.
Why do you conjure up wonderful dreams, that will only haunt you when they break.
Why don't you see that love was an illusion, love is a waste of time.
You grow so close, for them only to leave you behind.
The happiness that you seek, is as equal as the disappointment that the world serves you.
Little children who do not know their bounds, who do not understand their limitations in life.
Such idiots, hurting themselves more as they try to struggle, try to change.
Their parents work for them until their body gets worn out and wary,
Yet those naïve imbeciles try to pay them back, not out of gratitude, but out of guilt.
Throwing away what they truly give you, your freedom, not the material inheritance.
I hate that child…
I hate that child who was I. An old school dreamer.
The myself, that I have forgotten long ago."
After all these years, I never understood what he meant.
I just thought he had a cruel mind to justify the world as a sad place.
But then one day, I found myself walking by the same park.
The old man wasn't there anymore since many a years had passed.
I sat down the same bench he sat on, and that same frown, found its way to the corners of my mouth.
How Very ironic...
---------------------------------
Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories; They're all that's left you.
-Simon And Garfunkel (Bookends Theme)