in a fit of irrational anxiety, he felt the world turn its back on him, and in return, himself in a catatonic resignation.
apparently she was still waiting. a note. a call. a message. or even just a semblance of a sign from the heavens that he still exists, that his affection still lingers, albeit in slow and erratic installments. she taught herself restraint. and patience.
i was waiting. maybe for a message. a tag. an upload. mail. or even a missed call. just any sign that she might still be there. my affectations have always been restrained. and i am always paralyzed by the indecision of roaming free and settling down. i know my quirks and my fits. still i waited, exercising the knowingly doomed outcome from being virtuously patient.
we travelled a group. when we celebrated, i found myself caged amidst a flurry of ill-translated words of a language that my anxious and tired brain could no longer intake. i lost my patience within. i allowed a dark brooding omen to take hold of my life. i almost died.
he closed his eyes - focusing that everything else should be immaterial. he opened them. they were talking and laughing. they were preoccupied with what strings they have found themselves to be related. he had no strings with them. he was fast becoming a fiction. he closed his eyes - she was looking at him, without longing nor despise, no tears, not even a smile. seemingly in a tunnel far far away inside his closed eyes, she was just looking.