I love you,’ she whispered staring out the window seeing the roofs nothing but still brick houses.
She knows he cant hear her, but she says it most days always staring out of the window, seeing nothing but mist of every grey morning.
She has just reached her 25th birthday, but all that was on her mind is she is not there, she is nothing to say happy birthday, to kill her on her lips to wrap her arms around her neck & pull her tight.
She has never known her heart to light, to be like air , never hearing it no never feeling.
Her heart is it stone heavy, the grief overtakes her on most days, people look at her with sad eyes, as she sitting the corner of the libiry staring out of the grey mist morning,. She doesn’t even put on a pretend smile, what the worth of a smile when you don’t mind it, she thinks, why should I pretend that I’m okay. So everyone else wont feel bad.
Her hair is now cut short, just below the jaw line, thinking somehow it will change everything, that I knew haircut will change something in this mud & stone life that Rita Lenworth has. That all that long brown hair had been dragging you down.
That she buys new clothes will do the same.
But it doesn’t change one single second of her existence.
Nothing changes in Rita life, the mundane life she leads it nothing but empty space. That she is clogging up, her shoulders her sagging as she slumps over books & books. Her brown eyes reading two pages at one time, she comes in mostly every morning, simply because she hasn’t enough book at home.
Cause it better than being her in land of the living than being in those four off pale white walls filled with stuff that she has seen time over again.
To a passer-by you might see her as in mourning In her black clothes that cover mostly every inch of wobbly flesh, her face turned away from public view, she barely raises her eyes as some one would when their come through the doors off this turn of the century liberty. But Rita doesn’t cause she knows know one is coming in for her, to look for her too speak to her, because there is just one soul who knows her.
But again as she look out of the small window she sit at every day, she looks at the mountains, seeing the grey mist sitting nicely on top, she knows she will say the words in a tiny whisper of a voice.
I love you.
Its closing time now & before they can push everyone out, she buttons her cold black coat all the way up to her chin & walks out into the cold stale air. Quarter past four time to catch the bus to the four walls & everything she hates.
Every organ is begging her not to go home, why go back there. There’s only one answer , there is no where else to go.
She walked back to her one bedroom flat in the small village & goes walks as always with her head down & her hands in her pockets watching her every time 100 steps towards her front door, she is never wrong.
She climbs up to her eight floor flat & opens the door. There it is welcoming her home with open arms & a huge big smile.
Silence.
Taking her coat off she sees as always where everything is exactly where she left it.
Nothing ever changes, nothing ever would. She walks into her living room where the there the T.V one chair & one small brown table in the middle of the room, there are no pictures of loved ones, no small little quirky knick knacks. There four empty walls. She sits at the table & stares at the wall in front of her.
Rita doesn’t even weep anymore, she doesn’t think she can honestly there is nothing left inside the stone heavy heart, she feels the day melt on her face as darkness approaches.
She turns out the window looks at the distance as the only words she ever says.
I love you.
Are you wondering yet why she says that, why that’s the only thing she every says.
Because Rita is in love & far away she is.
Rita doesn’t know where, dead or alive happy or sad. She doesn’t know why she is, or how she is.
She just knows that once she was truly in love with someone that is not beside her anymore.
She doesn’t have a photo a number to call or an address she can mail the countless letter she has piled up on her bedside table.
All she knows that love once came & now its cruelly gone.
I love you that all she says day after day night after night before she sleeps after she wakes where she looks out of the window.
Because truly Rita is in love, because one day she was happy one day she was complete, one day she was vibrated an alive.
Now she is just waiting to die, waiting for the whole world to fall, this whole place to burn .
She now gets up & strips naked not caring to look at her body, she climbs into bed & wraps herself in a tiny ball & waits to fall asleep, waiting for her to come to her & dream.
& she doesn’t like clockwork she comes & everything is good & everything is alive.
The doctors call her disorder & clinical depression. That everything she thinks, she feels she loves she hates is 100 times more that what you feel in a single hour of your life.
So where doesn’t this story go, doesn’t the woman come back to her does she take her away & they be happy like so many fairy tales end.
No.
Rita is alone with the simplest of memories of being in love. She dies alone & get buried alone with only a few kind words from the vicar to god.
She has just reached her 25th birthday, but all that was on her mind is she is not there, she is nothing to say happy birthday, to kill her on her lips to wrap her arms around her neck & pull her tight.
She has never known her heart to light, to be like air , never hearing it no never feeling.
Her heart is it stone heavy, the grief overtakes her on most days, people look at her with sad eyes, as she sitting the corner of the libiry staring out of the grey mist morning,. She doesn’t even put on a pretend smile, what the worth of a smile when you don’t mind it, she thinks, why should I pretend that I’m okay. So everyone else wont feel bad.
Her hair is now cut short, just below the jaw line, thinking somehow it will change everything, that I knew haircut will change something in this mud & stone life that Rita Lenworth has. That all that long brown hair had been dragging you down.
That she buys new clothes will do the same.
But it doesn’t change one single second of her existence.
Nothing changes in Rita life, the mundane life she leads it nothing but empty space. That she is clogging up, her shoulders her sagging as she slumps over books & books. Her brown eyes reading two pages at one time, she comes in mostly every morning, simply because she hasn’t enough book at home.
Cause it better than being her in land of the living than being in those four off pale white walls filled with stuff that she has seen time over again.
To a passer-by you might see her as in mourning In her black clothes that cover mostly every inch of wobbly flesh, her face turned away from public view, she barely raises her eyes as some one would when their come through the doors off this turn of the century liberty. But Rita doesn’t cause she knows know one is coming in for her, to look for her too speak to her, because there is just one soul who knows her.
But again as she look out of the small window she sit at every day, she looks at the mountains, seeing the grey mist sitting nicely on top, she knows she will say the words in a tiny whisper of a voice.
I love you.
Its closing time now & before they can push everyone out, she buttons her cold black coat all the way up to her chin & walks out into the cold stale air. Quarter past four time to catch the bus to the four walls & everything she hates.
Every organ is begging her not to go home, why go back there. There’s only one answer , there is no where else to go.
She walked back to her one bedroom flat in the small village & goes walks as always with her head down & her hands in her pockets watching her every time 100 steps towards her front door, she is never wrong.
She climbs up to her eight floor flat & opens the door. There it is welcoming her home with open arms & a huge big smile.
Silence.
Taking her coat off she sees as always where everything is exactly where she left it.
Nothing ever changes, nothing ever would. She walks into her living room where the there the T.V one chair & one small brown table in the middle of the room, there are no pictures of loved ones, no small little quirky knick knacks. There four empty walls. She sits at the table & stares at the wall in front of her.
Rita doesn’t even weep anymore, she doesn’t think she can honestly there is nothing left inside the stone heavy heart, she feels the day melt on her face as darkness approaches.
She turns out the window looks at the distance as the only words she ever says.
I love you.
Are you wondering yet why she says that, why that’s the only thing she every says.
Because Rita is in love & far away she is.
Rita doesn’t know where, dead or alive happy or sad. She doesn’t know why she is, or how she is.
She just knows that once she was truly in love with someone that is not beside her anymore.
She doesn’t have a photo a number to call or an address she can mail the countless letter she has piled up on her bedside table.
All she knows that love once came & now its cruelly gone.
I love you that all she says day after day night after night before she sleeps after she wakes where she looks out of the window.
Because truly Rita is in love, because one day she was happy one day she was complete, one day she was vibrated an alive.
Now she is just waiting to die, waiting for the whole world to fall, this whole place to burn .
She now gets up & strips naked not caring to look at her body, she climbs into bed & wraps herself in a tiny ball & waits to fall asleep, waiting for her to come to her & dream.
& she doesn’t like clockwork she comes & everything is good & everything is alive.
The doctors call her disorder & clinical depression. That everything she thinks, she feels she loves she hates is 100 times more that what you feel in a single hour of your life.
So where doesn’t this story go, doesn’t the woman come back to her does she take her away & they be happy like so many fairy tales end.
No.
Rita is alone with the simplest of memories of being in love. She dies alone & get buried alone with only a few kind words from the vicar to god.
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