“Heart squeezed art piece – Marble form” [short story, poetic]

The lustre of the lights that shimmer through the chandelier, as the ceiling becomes the dazzling beauty of the night.

“I might have said some words that weren’t meant.” – He breathes out as hand reaches out, to make a gentle wave like gesture.

Music of the opera house is filling the premises.

I stand and watch this person exuberant and mighty, become a human right in front of me.

“It was not my idea to do that. Truly was not.” – The voice was filled with emotion, as he went with his story. – “Didn’t expect it from self. Never did.” – The voice tailed off.

“I was mesmerised, drawn, somehow. Something pulled me. Not that I resisted, with all my might… But the…”

Music was at a perfect pace, with perfect pause.

“I could just stop, I thought. But, with my dreams showing me my desire and my heart stretching out to grab onto fire… I lost all that was there to restrain or hold back. It was such a…” 

He turned aside, putting weight on the pillar. Balcony where we stood had the perfect view.

“I felt like I could do it and I did. I was filled with fear and anxious to feel and try. I really thought that I’m up to something horrendous, up until the moment I tasted those lips.” – Eyes looked downwards, to the musical stage.

“I was swayed by the eyes. Pulled, with thin string towards that person. And there’s no way to know why. I just got swayed, saying that ‘sane, rational me’ goodbye. But, then the calculated me got out. You can’t two-time. People get busted like that. And oh the drama that follows.”

The sad, tired, loving eyes with similar smile, in dazzling lights of opera… Like a character from a dramatic movie.

“Might have screwed up one’s own life, really. Usually there’s regrets that one feels, but to me there’s none of that. It’s that sometimes heart is odd. The matters of own heart might be odd. I’m embarrassed, I’m estranged, but I’m not cursed… Yet. Maybe already am.”

“You know how I have a perfect life, with perfect wife. But what I do and where I’m at – it’s like I’m cheating, but I don’t feel like that… “ – He puts to lips the glass with bourbon, his eyes are watery. 

The lights are off, with all the focus on the stage, as music goes on.

“I feel like I’ll go, soon enough go someplace further than I was before. But I feel torn. Inside I’m torn to shreds by how selfish I am, but how awfully tasty it gets, as lips touch the lips and eyes look in eyes, as words that one sips spews harshest demise. I know that I’m fool for relying it to you, but say, just maybe not, but then… Like angel stripped of wings I will fall flat on my back, looking upwards and wasting away… Oh what can I say…”

Dvořák: Serenade for Strings, Tempo di Valse – resounded, echoing and filling the air with tremble.

“If there is a way to cleanse ourselves from all the things that eat at you – it’s best to be ready to submit to the death that comes right after, sweeping you off the feet with lightness of a spring breeze.” – He spoke so easily.

“I forget and am reminded every so often that simple thing – we’re all human. As a human we make mistakes, cause trouble and do things that might not be of sort to be done…”

“She’s so cute with her endless ‘I love you so much. You’re the best. Hope there’s nothing to worry about.’ and I reply that all is well. Even though I will kiss another at the end of the phone call, even though I have craved her all this time and been there to just maybe not tell that I have you. I lie? I lie. I withhold my thoughts… Some I do.”

He stares down, tasting on bourbon, as words spill.

As if he is telling words to death itself, in a manner that’s so tender.

“Pull me to my death,

as I’m in finest dress,

as I hold feat at the halls of the music,

as I’ve dined my fill.

Let me die at the hands of fury

you’ve boiled down to.

I’d hate it if you were emotionless.

I’d thank you at the end,

I’d touch you ever lightly. 

I’ll be the sinner of the mad contempt,

but filled with joy of empty – I’ll be happy.

Please,

drag me down by hand and land last kiss on me, 

before or during stab that’ll make it. 

Or maybe gun shot, I don’t mind. 

As long as it’s by your hand –

I’ll be happy. I’ll happily,

with smile will even cry. 

I hope that when I die – 

I’ll die in waltz of death,

in the hands of needless to say silent contempt. 

Please, I’ll let you have your fill. 

Just let me, until my end, to be real.”

 

His tears fell down his cheeks, as he kept smiling.

The words that left the lips felt dying.

He kept the gaze on ends of something dark.

It felt like soul got bare, so stark.

And ever creeping madness mixed with sadness

Was crawling to my feet with gladness.

Was he for real revealing something sacred?
Was he so honest to become so hated?
Why sadness in his heart is blooming dearly?
Will falling apart so young not haunt him clearly?
Just why is waltz the one to go with?
He’d fall in such despair if ever, clearly…

But, he’s just there, with last to fear,

With ever filled empty mere…

His eyes felt so alive and yet so dead.

But why the hell am I so sad?

Just a piece of marble cutting turned to finest art.

Now I’ll be hard to part.

“She’ll make the best at being her.
I’ll be the best at being me.

There’s only so much for forgiveness
There’s only so much what’s for me.

Can you believe?
I am just ready for it.
Forever to just die.
But, are you ready for it?
I’ll keep on being through the eye
That is of art and making,
Through nights that die for taking.

I’ll keep my fill of joy.
There’s nothing – just that void.
Even when soul gets destroyed…
For all the times I toyed
With feelings of those people
I’ll just repent in depths of darkness.
The tactless, fadeless madness…
I’ll go with what my heart is for –
With what pulls strings and loves’ adore.

I seek my madness with an open door
I’ll keep on following the things that sting
And things that it will bring.
Blessed with the ring,

Blessed with love and sad of some other thing.
Inexplicable, surreal at first – but that’s for those who don’t know thirst
For love and closeness… For different taste of lips,

For eager, timid softness and blessed little heart string.

Remorse? Regret? Won’t I feel sad?
Just happy, tired and exhausted.

Not something openly posted,

But with close to no powers left to struggle –

I’ll keep the joy of lips that tuggle on my heart.

And once again I will depart…
…and fall apart…

…and break in pieces…

…for the love of what adore becomes…

…will kill my heart – will end my soul.”

 

He turns around and faces exit, as balcony is dark and dim. There’s something that will face it. As he’ll break from within.

Footsteps echo in the hall, seems like something crumble, fall…

Here I stand for years to come – heart squeezed art piece – marble form.

opera_balcony

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