Written By Colm Horgan - Irish aspiring writer with too much love on the brain
I took her walls as a challenge…
…instead of the warning they were.
I saw her in glimpses between the cracks of the structure she’d built up against who knows how many barrages to her heart.
And curiosity played its part by dragging me to her.
I was a phantom, a ghost passing by the outside of her fort.
In the spring light, she bloomed into my heart, like that of the blossoms and leaves that filled the days.
Yet the stone always eclipsed some part, and I witnessed her only through the corner of my vision. Her smile always from the side.
But I wonder, what would break first?
I know the comfort of isolation.
I have dug my trench and filled my moat with the tears unshed.
If no one ever got close, then no one could ever hurt me.
She perhaps gave glimpses, because it was convenient.
Or perhaps out of a want.
A want for someone to stand outside and call for her in the rains that brought us into the heat of summer. When everything seemed to ease into comfort. When, through great reluctance, I put my hand through. But she hesitated and stepped away, and all I received was brush against my finger-tips. Enough to keep me at that castle.
She is no damsel for me to save.
There is a strength within her that she has weighed down by the chains of pain. She has locked herself in this tower, and hid the key.
I am no knight.
Despite this armour I wear, it is rusty and battered and ready to fall from me.
If only for a touch, or a word from the right person.
But she is not someone for me to save. Only to put to her that there is a way out. There is always a way out, and I offer only one to her.
She has walked through the river Styx and labelled herself with what she feels she should be.
Labels that never lay flat, and only itch against her neck.
Should I continue to bloody my knuckles across her surface?
Or like these autumn leaves, is it time for me to pass by and leave her. To resume the ghost I was and fade away and out.
Is now the time I fall?
Am I being stubborn or determined? I always wondered how people decipher between them. When do you go from being strong and focused, to a child gripping too firmly?
My reluctance must be a sign to keep knocking.
Winter will soon be here.
But I hope the heat from my heart will bleed through to her. With my back to this wall, I will melt the frost from the bricks on her side. Through the cracks she will see my breath in fog. Prepared at any moment to speak.
Winter will soon come. But spring comes soon after. And there again, perhaps we will find a reason to bloom again.