The stupid fights...

I’ve taken a step back, and so has he. We are standing in the living room ten feet apart just looking at each other.

It started so harmless. Me asking him if he wanted to do something tonight. The movies? Or just go for some coffee? He answered that he was tired. And then I sighed. “Sigh!” And just like a referee had blown his whistle the match was suddenly on. “What?”, he asked. “What, what?”, I replied. “You sighed” “Yeah, I sighed” –Pause- “Am I not allowed to sigh?”
He looked at me , suddenly putting on his “game-face” as to tell me that if I wanted to go at it like that, he was game. He answered that he understood what I meant with that sigh. That he knew that now I would lash out at him for not wanting to go out tonight.

I looked back at him, letting the silence speak for me. Waiting for all the words at the back of my throat to calm down so I could say something reasonable. Something that would turn this discussion back around to pink-clouds and sunny days.

But the words wouldn’t go down. Instead I spewed out; “I haven’t lashed out all the other times you just wanted to sit on your as at home. We never do anything together anymore but eat, sleep and fuck!” I see him draw his breath at the word “fuck”. I don’t think he ever heard me curse before, and certainly not at him. I can see I have gone too far, but it’s no turning back now. He replies; “We do stuff. Just this weekend we were so busy we were hardly at home”. He seems angry, and disappointed in me. I see his fists open and close, his arms held closely to his sides. I hate to see him like this, to be the reason he get like this. I want to step forward and close the distance between us. I didn't mean what I just said. I never mean to get like this. Bit I don’t. Instead; “The apartment just gets so small sometimes. It’s like I can’t breathe” Now I hurt him. I see it in his eyes. In his beautiful blue eyes.

We are like two children throwing a ball between us. Picture it. It starts out a small ball, like a marble. In my hands. I throw it, and he catches it. But in his hands it turns into a golf-ball before he throws it back. Soon it has grown into a tennis-ball, a handball, a football and then a basketball. Constantly growing, until it gets to big to handle.

“I’m sorry I am such a disappointment” The ball drops from his hands and down to the floor with a soft “thud” Now it’s a brick stone lying dead and hard between us. He stares at it. I stare at my feet. In my mind I tell him that I love him, that he is the best thing that ever happened to me. That he is my world, my everything. Anything to make that stupid brick disappear. But out loud it sounds more like; “What do you want for dinner?”

Where has all the words gone?

Where has all the words gone? I am at a standstill, watching everybody else pass me by. I have lost my words and stories. All that is left is speechlessness. Silence. I feel like I lost my best friend.

I used to mean so much about everything. I had so much to say. Things weighing heavy on my hart. Oh, how I miss that weight! Words tumbling over each other to get out my mouth, out of my mind, out of my pen or on to my keyboard. And my imagination created stories and dreams for my mind to play with, and find rest in. Where can I play now? Have my dreams left me to seek a mind of colour and imagination. A person alive with that sense of playfulness and passion that I miss?

I wonder if I have grown too old for my escapism, for fantasy. Maybe the seriousness of the world finally has weighed me down and made me just one more person in a world of persons and few individuals. If my hart is not in it, were has it gone?

My mind is numb and the music is silent. I strike a key on my piano and no music comes out. I lift my pen over my notebook and it just bleeds to death on the paper. No words. No ideas. No passion. No colour. I am grey and dead as rock.

Paper covers rock.