Some Kind of Darkness.

“You never told me something about that.”, I scream. You show me your bored face. “Why should I’ve told you something about it. It’s not your thing.”, you answer, while you ty not to look into my eyes. I’m scared. I’m fucking scared.

The darkness around us makes a scarifying ambience. The fog covers that area with the touch of a Silent Hill-game. I’m looking for some zombies, but there is no one. Just those two people, who don’t want to speak. The water crashes down the waterfall and your face seems to change every time I try to look into it.

It’s like the picture of Dorian Gray. Your face, slowly, shows every destruction, every bad thing, which has happened in your life. You aren’t that smart girl, I thought to know. You would have been scared, if you looked in a mirror. But you only stare at the floor. That dusty darkness. Your breath. Only the kiss of a stone on my heart. It hurts.

‘You should hold me’, I hear you. But you don’t say a word. Maybe, it was just one of your thoughts. But I can’t hold you, I’m afraid of touching you. I’m afraid of sitting next to you. You’ve changed. Even your smile seems dreadfuller than before.

It’s the last day of May. The sun has brightened the day but now. Everything has changed. No helpful word, no more laughter. I’m not really sure, if I want to see you again. I get up, look at you the last time, and then I go away.

Where should I go? Where should I leave my footsteps on. It’s a vicious circle. A catch-22. Every place I go, I hear your breathing and everytime I look at the stars, I remember that one day. When we lied on the street, watching the Great Wagon. I need to crash all of your things you’ve left. You don’t even talk to me, when you see me the next time. I don’t want to speak to you, anyway. But I’m afraid of our next meeting. Which will take place. I’m not quite sure whether I will shout at you all that damn things, you’ve done to me.

You’ve always told me, that I should tell you something about my feelings. I wasn’t able to. I didn’t want to tell you something, because you were the reason for most of my problems. Telling you something about my problems is like telling George W. Bush something about the Iraq war, isn’t it?

Weeks or months ago, I thought, we met too early. You were to young, to have a full-time relationship. But now, I know, that you’re just someone. Oh, damn. I don’t want to write it here. I hope, I’ll never see again. But I’m fucking quite sure, that we won’t.

Yeah, that’s nearly my very first English text here. It’s something that came to my mind, while sitting outside and listening to nice music. The darkness is real and the thoughts are fact. That shouldn’t be the problem. Isn’t it normal to be angry about someone, which you really like, and who is unwilling to put some energy into a friendship. I think, thats normal. But I’m looking for my very first e-mail for DSDS. By the way.