Mike Hicks

Can't Stop Thinking

(Yeah, it's late.)

The clock ticks away, oblivious to my weary state.

The wind carries the scent of the short grass down into my room.

I lie in bed, staring into the darkness.

In that dark, when I can almost see her shadow, my hand reaches out to search.

My mind expects my hand to find wisps of hair and soft skin.
But nothing is there.
My hand seeks sideways and upward, cautiously hunting.

It is not meant to be.

My hand falls back to my side, defeated.
A fan's cool breeze is all that it found.

The wind carries in a new sound as headlights pierce the darkness.

I remember where I am, that I'm alone.

Why must nights like this go on forever?
Have I somehow wronged the world to end up confined in this open space?

Lying in bed, I try to curl up and hide from the world, hoping to make it all fade away.

For a moment, I regain control.

Yet, my open window still lets the wind trickle down my wall.
A twisted hair on my neck gets caught in an eddy and springs upward, begging it's neighbors to do the same.

The world won't go away that easily.

I try to reconcile with the world and let bygones be bygones as I recall the good fortunes that have been bestowed upon me.
I repeat my promise to try to live the best way I can, to use my knowledge and understanding, to try to make things better for myself—for everyone.

But still, the world feels it must hide the answers to my true questions from me.

The sound of her voice. The shape of her face. A mere letter of her name.

They will remain mysteries for one more night, so I wait.

The clock ticks, and I am awake.

Posted by mike at May 16, 2003 02:27 AM | Self | TrackBack