The Untitled Song

There are times when words don't mean anything except what they look like, just little strings of black twisted into shapes, illegible to the heart because it is not the language it speaks. There are times when all the heart longs for is a few more minutes. Just a few more minutes to hold on to what it really can understand. But even then, even in one of the few times it can long for something to hope for, a bitter, burning wave, just engulfs it in denial. Nothing is for free. No love, no hope, no dream comes without a cost of pain. It is then that the heart screams in agony, but no-one can hear it. It is not the language they speak.

That's when the heart longs to cry, but all that's left in the shallow pool of reality is dry, dry skin. When you open your mouth to speak, your speech is silence. No-one understands that, except the heart you are longing for. Again, that never comes without a price, and more often than not, it doesn't come at all.

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I wish she would look for me the way I look for her. I wish she would smile when she happen to see me, the way I smile when I see her. Except the smile isn't really a smile at all. It's an illusion that pain creates.

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The heart is a very vital organ of the body.

When the heart longs for something, and holds it so dearly, but doesn't get it, it begins to experience pain. Therefore, it is natural, that the mind and soul get affected by the pain the heart feels. There is no way the heart can get rid of that pain, no-one understands what it is trying to say. No-one except for what it longs for.

And nothing comes without a price. More often than not, it doesn't come at all.

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I wish she would search for love songs, the way I search for love songs. I wish she would think of me at night, the way I cry myself to sleep thinking of her.

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While the heart screams in pain, at the irony of perfection, that nothing perfect could ever be gained, no-one can hear it, because no-one can understand what it is saying. However much it screams, it shouts, crying to be heard, to be understood, no-one ever listens. So it sings a silent song, its song the only true melody in the world. What a shame, that no-one can hear it, to be inspired.

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I wish she would miss me the way I miss her, every second I don't speak to her. I wish she would feel jealous every time someone called me the way I do when it happens to her. I wish she would want to be with me when others are, the way I do. I wish she would see my face behind every window, behind every door, the way I see hers.

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I wish her heart would sing the same untitled song mine would, so that finally, it would know that someone can understand it. The sense of relief that would calm it, to let it know someone was listening to its screams, its beckonings that no-one would listen to. I wish she would notice me the way I notice her. I wish she would look in the crowd for me, the way I look for her. I wish she would feel the way I feel for her.

I wish she would love me the way I love her.

But nothing comes without a price. More often than not, it doesn't come at all.