Unrequited

She tries to sleep. It evades her skilfully. Her eyes droop shut, heavy with exhaustion but they don't sleep. Not yet.
His face comes back to her. An image in her mind, yet so real as though she may reach out and touch it. But where he is and what he does is unknown, like a riddle never solved.
Why are there promises, or that which seems like promises, which are made just to be broken? Even the simplest ones - I will meet you afterwards, I'll come. It's a promise, isn't it? Or did she misinterpret?
Lonely nights spent wandering the roads and listening to music doesn't help anymore. The solitude doesn't help anymore. Sleep doesn't come anymore. Nothing works anymore.
It's as if doubt has overcome her.
She was called selfish, she was called arrogant. Named as sensitive, named as callous. What did she do? Care and love in the only few ways she knows how to. By noticing a hole in a t-shirt and replacing it. Finding torn clothes and stitching it. Putting to wash a blanket maybe, but then these are things anyone may do. Sharing her food, sharing her money. Sharing a bit of happiness which she thinks others might smile at...even if only for a moment. Others meaning him of course.
Yet none of this matters does it? Executing what is impossible for her must be the proof. Then let there be no proof. Calling too often is a crime nowadays, maybe. It is, of course, a waste of money. So no more calls. No more anything.
Irritating, the mere presence of her is irritating. Not just to him either. So why bother, it was easier in quiet solitude.
Unrequited love seems a better option. Loving from a distance has the advantage that it will never open you up for folly. It may hurt to just watch but at least it would have been your own choice. It would infinitely feel better than being forced into watching, seeing yourself lose all influence with the one you care about the most.
Unrequited love. A sort of unconscious, unconditional love. And have you noticed yet? All those begin with U.
You.

Just For Now

I feel none, just sitting in a box,
Of whose I miss the locks,
I stare out, up at a sky,
Dotted with stars and fireflies;
Maybe one day, I'll get up and out there,
Maybe one day, I'll know that which is fair,
Maybe one day, I'll find the secrets to souls
Maybe one day, everything will be revealed on its own;
But for now in my box,
I'm caught yet I'm not,
Now in my box,
I'm cosy and I'm warm;
Curiosity strikes me hard and deep,
Yet somehow I hesitate from making the leap,
I'm so far from where I thought to go,
So far from once strong lived hopes and lows;
Stuck in my box, I still wonder,
I still want to try stirring waters,
Still would like to think as though
The black sheep is what I am, yet,
My trials seem so far away from this end.