Please Stay

I dedicate this poem to a friend of mine.

You're in a dark place
With sense of no escape
Your heart is on a race
And your mouth is under tape
You just want it to end
To finally get some peace
Your will begins to bend
But just listen to me, please

Put the knife down
You can walk away
Don't let yourself drown
Stay with me, please stay

Your emotions are in a whirl
You don't know how to feel
You're just a small and frightened girl
Will you ever heal?
To be honest, I don't know
But it just doesn't matter
I know you're feeling low
But give up and my world will shatter

You think leaving will solve everything
That it will make the whole world right
But not for those left behind
You have to stay, I'll help you fight

So put the knife down
You can walk away
Don't let yourself drown
I'm begging you, please stay

Waiting

He stood in the rain, looking down both ends of the street, waiting. The freezing water came down in sheets, making sure there was no chance of him staying dry, even with the use of his old umbrella. The street light flickered, illuminating his anxious expression randomly. It was so late, or perhaps early, and there was not another person in sight, not a car on the road. And he continued waiting. He heard the pounding footsteps of someone trying to escape the downpour. His head whipped around to the direction of the sound, the only sound apart from the unrelenting rain. A figure came into sight, carrying a briefcase over their heads as if it could help. And they continued running right past him, and he looked back to the ground. He took a deep breath, trying to focus on the relaxing smell of water against tar. He rested his hand on his stomach, which was filled with butterflies that refused to settle down. Would this be worth the wait? He was beginning to think not, but if there was even the slightest shred of a chance... He had been confident at first, but was no longer so sure.
Suddenly the man stopped shivering, for he was now numb to all but one feeling. The street light flickered out once more, and this time it didn't turn back on. He was plunged into darkness, with only the rain as his company. With one long sigh, he sunk to the footpath, dropped the umbrella and let the rain claim the last of him. She hadn't come.

The Windchime

She sat in bed, a place where she had not left for 2 days. Never had she felt this depressed or lonely. Everytime she closed her eyes she would see his face. Every detail would be clear. The stubble on his chin that suited him so well, his thick brown hair, his beautiful green eyes. And she would remember him speak. She would sink into the sound of his voice, the voice that was rich like dark chocolate.

There was this one particular memory, the memory of these two lovers meeting for the first time. She had been looking in the windows of a junkshop, curious to see what little treasures would be inside. A wind chime near the door of the shop lit up the air with its metallic yet delicate clinking. A man inside the shop appeared on the other side of the window. Distracted, she looked up at him. It was the first time she had ever seen him, and had no idea in the slightest what an impact he would have on her later on.

But she no longer wanted to dwell on the past. Using every ounce of strength and determination, she slid out from the silk sheets of her bed and slid right down to the floor. It wasn't much, but that first move had given her the hope that she really could get over this. So she picked herself up off the floor and finally found herself in an upright position. She glanced at her desk, now in a layer of dust, and saw the small, blue Chinese box. Inside would be two metallic balls painted with the symbols of ying and yang, and with little bells hidden in the middle of each ball. She used them whenever she wanted to cheer up. The sound they made when the little bells started chiming was like nothing she had ever heard before, so they didn't remind her of anything. No bad memories could be brought up from the sound of the bells. She would be able to choose her thoughts. They helped her to be in control of her own mind.

She went over to the delicate box. She picked up the two little balls inside and started to roll them around in the palm of her hand. Soon she would be happy, content. But just as she started to smile, something happened that had never happened before. The balls made her think of a memory. Those little bells she had relied upon sounded just like the windchime that had been outside the junk shop, the day she had met him. This was one memory that always brought tears to her eyes. The last of her hope evaporated. Like a balloon losing its air, she sank to the floor once more, not sure if she would ever rise again.