Empty Noises

Surrounded completely but barely anywhere

Simple events in our lives, yet sometimes, we never live  simply afterwards.

A piece by Blue

 

There was so much noise surrounding him. It’s not that he doesn’t like the noise but the voices remind him of her soft sweet melodies brushing against his ears. Her hair falling slightly like that summer rain on his head. She was what he woke up for every morning after a night full of frights. She was the reason he wrote love poems but hated love. She, was the light that switched on when all doors were closing on upon him.

But he hates love now. He hates it because every time he looks himself in the mirror, it reflects back incompleteness. He hates love because maybe he can never love.

Not because he isn’t capable of love, but because he loves his words more than her soft sweet voice now. He loves how his verse speaks more than how she speaks. He loves how the light of black ink brightens up his day more than how she brightened it. And it kills him, to realise that he will never love someone else.