Friday, July 8, 2011

a missed connection of minds

He put down the stack of my photographs he'd been flipping through. "I didn't know you were such a good photographer."

I still wouldn't look at him. "That's because you don't know anything about me."

"I know that you are a lonely person."

I look up startled, wondering if my loneliness glistens from my eyes.

He taps the stack of pictures he just put down. "Most of your pictures are of nature. The only photos that contain people are self-portraits or crowd scenes where no one is distinguishable."

Heat sears through me, heat of the indignation that he, of all people, bared the truth so effortlessly.

"You should have been a detective," I snap.

Oh! What makes this way? I never wanted to be a porcupine-heart.

Just leave. I plead in my mind. It's not that I mind his presence so much, though my heart is beating uncomfortably fast, and my limbs feel twice as gangly. I'm just afraid any moment I will burst into tears. I don't want him to see me cry. (Though maybe my heated tears will melt this lump of ice in my throat.)

She must hate me. She wants me to leave, I can tell.

Her discomfort is practically radiating from her, maybe that's why I feel so warm.

I shouldn't have stayed. I should have left the moment I saw she was the only person in the empty art room. My mother has always said that I don't know when to give up. That may be true sometimes, but I do know I should give up now.

She's right, I don't know her. But I've never wanted to know someone so much, and to be known. Then I could tell her the something that desperately wants to be said:

"Yes, I surround myself with people and parties. Yes, every moment of my life is stretched to the maximum with gaiety and noise made by myself and other people. And I'm not a photographer so there is no evidence to support this, but... I'm lonely too."

I can hear him heading for the door.

(I turn the knob and look back at her taciturn figure.)

I can feel his eyes boring a hole through me. Go on - go on with your wonderful life, leave me and my pathetic self alone.

(Her face is obscured by her dark hair. Perhaps I should...? But I'm just a coward and I open the door.)

The shutting of the door sounds like a soft apology, a sigh of lost opportunity.



  1. Lovely and sad. I relate to that girl hiding behind her hair.

  2. You always seem to make sadness so beautiful. I like how you tell the story from two perspectives... very innovative.

  3. It's odd how the first one feels so familiar; anyone who looks at my photos could tell that I'm lonely. "Most of your pictures are of nature. The only photos that contain people are self-portraits or crowd scenes where no one is distinguishable." I can relate to the photographer so much. This is exactly how I feel about people, always wanting them to leave because I feel uncomfortable around them and/or I feel like I'm about to burst into tears. It's crazy how sometimes fictional characters have a some kind of true form somewhere in the world.

    I really love your writing! You indeed make sadness beautiful.

  4. Ever: Thank you, darling. <3 I hide behind my hair too.

    Jade: Thank you so much! The beauty of sadness is something very close to my heart. I don't even always realize that I am conveying that emotion!
    I try to always be aware that there are two sides to every story (even in real life). It makes life interesting, if nothing else. :)

    Jessica: Oh! I don't know whether to be pleased or sad that my lonely creation has a real life counterpart! But speaking of your photography, I was looking at it the other week and I really love it. Perhaps its aura pervaded my subconscious when I was writing this piece. :)

    Thank you very, very much!

  5. I wonder how often this happens in real life? Bittersweet but so so beautiful <3

  6. What a lovely scene. I also like the use of two voices so we know what both of them thought. I find the delicate and conflicting emotions here familiar and interesting at the same time.

  7. (Her face is obscured by her dark hair. Perhaps I should...? But I'm just a coward and I open the door.)

    My, Oh my. Why do you always do this to me? Your stories seem to be more real to me. Right now, I'm flying to your door and give you a hug. This is .. yes. bittersweet. And beautiful.

    I love you <3

  8. E: Me too, dear, me too... Thank you! <3

    Shopgirl: Thanks so much! I appreciate your comment immeasurably. :)

    haze: Oh, dearest - thank you, thank you. Your comments always make me so happy. I love you too. <3

  9. Absolutely stunning and tragic, I couldn't ask for anything more. But your words never fail to send flowered breezes my way. Perfect dearest, just perfect.

    xx and hugs


  10. Thank you, Jhordyn! You are always so sweet and I love your sunflower-soul ever so much. <3

  11. This is so true of real life, though not always so with such lovable characters that you've created. I liked both of them immediately, and it was sad that they couldn't get past their own thoughts and feelings. an opportunity lost. Yes, I know what that's like.

    I love when you post these little stories :)

    BTW, yay for The Sugar Queen! I'm so glad you liked it - it really is the best of her books (though I've only read two others, haha). Adam the mailman - gaaaah. He's so cool.

  12. I'm glad you liked my two characters! The guy was a jerk originally but then I decided to tell his viewpoint and became attached to him. It's amazing how strongly I can feel about such a short vignette, hehe.
    Thank you so much, Kim! Your comment made me really happy. :)

    Well, she's only written four books so I'd say you've read enough to be a fair judge of her work. ;)
    Yesss! Adam was awesome! I want a mailman like him. I think he might have been a contributing factor to my enjoyment of the novel because often I find myself indifferent to the male love interests of many romance novels which can ruin the book. Yeah, he was great. =D


Silhouettes of a secret. A story told over a cuppa. Or perhaps just sitting on that stone bench, basking in the moonlight... and not saying anything at all.

("I can no other answer make but thanks, and thanks, and ever thanks." -Shakespeare, Twelfth Night)