The Clock

A little bit of creative writing for the soul. Something that a younger me put together. Enjoy. xox your local bohemian

Midnight. The church bell down the street strikes 12 times. I count them, one, two, three,…ARGHHHH! I yell out. No one’s home at my house. Just me. I can be as loud as I want. Relieve my stress, but I find, the more I think about it, the more I try to move on, the worse it gets.

All I can think of is your hand, creeping up the small of her back. Your grey-blue eyes, staring into her green ones. You’re lost in her, but she is just going through the motions. My heart starts to pound in my chest. Four, five, I keep thinking. Your fingers running through her long brown hair, clearly extensions. Fake. Just like everything else about her. The calloused tips of your fingers, a result of your hard days work, caress her face tracing her features like they were the most beautiful thing in the world, she cringes at the latent roughness of your touch. I wouldn’t care. But she does.

Still thinking. The clock strikes for the 6th time. By now she probably has your lips on her neck as you peck your way up to her mouth. You nibble her bottom lip, as you slide your hands down her back, lower and lower. 7, 8 the clock keeps striking. You love her, more than she knows. Even if she did know, she wouldn’t care. She would still see you as just an object. Not as anyone of value. I’m not like that.

For the 9th time the bell chimes. Just as you start to get closer, she freezes. Pushes you back. Starts screaming and abusing. It’s nothing new. You aren’t doing anything right. But then again, when are you ever doing anything right in her eyes? It’s always your fault. Never hers. If she jumps in bed with someone else, she would still find a way to turn it on you. What’s the problem this time? Who knows? She doesn’t say, just continues cursing at you. Pointing out your flaws and mistakes. You try holding her hand to calm her down. Nothing works. She slaps your face. The pain stings a bit, but you don’t even contemplate hitting her back. But her words hurt you even more. You would never speak a single word against her. Never have, never will. You try hiding the tears welling up in your eyes every time she calls you useless or worthless. She notices, but doesn’t care.

That’s it, you say you’ve had enough. But I know. She knows. You have never had enough.  2 weeks apart and you will go running back. The 10th strike sounds. I replay this scene over in my head. It has happened so many times. She abuses you, misuses you and you take a stand. But all you can ever do is love her. All you can ever do is run back and demean yourself. Asking for forgiveness for things you haven’t even done.

This time however, when you go running back, she’s moved on. Found someone else to play with. Another toy, another heart, another mind. The church bell strikes for the second last time. The scene in my head continues to play. You turn to me. Alone. Without her. For once she isn’t desperately clutching your hand. Holding you back in the fear of me stealing you from her. She always felt intimidated by me, though I don’t know why. Normally I would have been waiting, open arms all ready to catch you. But this time, I’m not there either. I wont be the heart that you use, just as she used you.

It doesn’t mean I don’t care. My heart, still breaking. The tears start falling down my face. I can’t stop. I have made my choice. Made my decision to stay away and protect my own heart. If I made my own choice, then why am I still falling apart over you? That’s when I realise, how I feel about you, is not much different to how you feel about her. How she treats you, is not much different to how you treat me. A vicious endless cycle. The clock strikes 12. That’s when I realise; I love you.

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