A Story of Neglect by MJ Field (best novels to read in english .TXT) 📕

 This work is copyrighted and author claims all rights and protections. 2015.

I see heaven in my loves blue eyes,

wondrous heaven ripped from the veil of disguise.

I see angels in my loves warm smile,

beautiful angels singing all the while.

I see mountains in my loves tall frame,

glorious mountains, stable and strong is their very name.

I feel roses in my loves soft touch,

delicate roses that I love so much.

I see sunshine in my loves crinkling brow,

life-giving rays, that always return is its vow.

I see blue skies and green grass in my loves deep tone,

rich days that bend and sway but never drone.

I see bliss in the rest of our lingering lives,

sweet bliss that my love ultimately provides.

Eternity can stretch on.

Like night that seems it will never bring the dawn.

The remembrance of your kiss

Stretches on like that forever night,

and I hold on to that memory

with all of my mortal might.

Still, like the night that seems it will never bring the dawn,

My greatest fear is that time will rob my memory

And your kiss will soon be gone.

Come back to me.

Come back and make the feeble memory bright.

Come back to me,

And with you will come the dawn and all of its glorious light.

Come and lay your warm lips upon mine so eager.

Come and make me the found, instead of only the seeker.

There is a need to feel brave.

To have that bravery transcend more than just circumstance.

There's a need for it to fill the soul and light the way that's dark.

Bravery is more than just circumstantial,

It is limitless.

Within your very being it has to reside or else fear overpowers everything

Then bravery loses its spark.

To be brave when a tidal wave of emotion drops you to the deep

where bravery's pure light can't reach.

That's the bravery I seek for when I'm drowning

by my own hearts doing.

I feel a need to be brave.

There is a buffet available,

To those who love and are loved.

I’ve been invited in,

But I find myself on the outskirts

Unable to reach the feast.

The happy attendants march,

Always in pairs with their arms around each other.

They mock me as I stand watching

Waiting for my partner to bring some food.

He comes and goes,

Always our togetherness is fleeting.

I gaze in ravenous hunger after him.

He teases me with sustenance,

But always what he brings me is meager,

Yet, enough to have me cling to the hope of more.

He gives me tastes, delicious tastes.

Tastes of how I should be loved and full

But I lead my life starving

With nothing but tastes to sustain me.

That is not supposed to be the life for a guest at a feast.

I beg my feet to carry me from the dining hall

And out, into the lonely night.

Loneliness is a far better punishment

Than reaching and hoping for the unattainable.

For something just outside my reach

But still, my arm always stretches.

I open my mouth for tastes.

It goes dry before he brings me one.

But I will withstand the torture still,

Until the next taste should come.  

I hold a piece of comfort in my hand.

It is small, and frail, and scares easily.

I have to use it sparingly so I can keep it strong.

Thinking a greater need than now ill come and I’ll be glad I’ve kept it whole.

And so, for now, while I need it, I just hold it.

And I hope that simply the thought of the piece I hold will be enough to comfort me.

 It is a terrible thing to be disrespected. To feel like nothing you do or say has any weight. Like it doesn't matter. 

All your efforts, all your attempts at communicating, at helping, at trying to make thigs better are being said into a black void that eats the sound and makes it as Silence. 

Silence is all I feel I am these days. My words are silent, my footsteps, my appearance, my thoughts, my breath, my heartbeat: as silence. 

Me, I, all of me has no substance, nothing substantial anymore. My very being, me, no longer is recongized as etheral, and thereby feeling.

To the opinion that matters most, to the one who's supposed to love me best, I am Silence. 

It is better to be Silence though, much better than being a physical thing. I used to be a physical thing; but like all physical things, it is damaged with time. 

I get hurt when I am a physical thing. So, I choose to be Silence.

To move unseen, it means I haven't the same potential of being harmed. But, I also haven't the opportunities to interact with him as I did before. 

I'm not sure I want that tupe of interaction though. To be a figurine he could hold up and praise himself and have others priase him by. A body without a soul, or emtion, that he could make fun of to boost his ego, or take to his friends and show-off like a shiny new toy that he, the toy master, could use and play with however he wanted only to be put back on the shelf when he was done.

Silence is lonely though. You don't feel in silence. You don't even feel the right to feel. Feelings bring pain. Silence is better. Numb is better.

Silence is a delusionary state. Feeling is reality. 

Reality is a terrible thing. 

Life’s cruel beauty,

That treacherous Goddess called Love.

That heaves the minds

And rends the hearts

Of all those who fall into her forsaking power.

That wicked beast that men bow down to.

That monstrous thing whom women worship.

That snake, that viper that is she

who brings proud creatures to their knees.

Groveling they go.

Begging they cry,

For loves torment to end,

For loves treason to die.