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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1940475-The-Light-Through-the-Trees
Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Psychology · #1940475
A glimpse inside the mind of a madwoman.
         Come here.  Come sit with me.  I need to talk to you.  I needed to do this before you went away.  And now, you have gone away and come back and gone away again.  And you have done this so much.  And I don't know if you are really here or if I am just imagining it.  I think you are here.  And I think that is as good as you being here.  So sit with me.  Talk with me.  There has always been so much I wanted to tell you and so much I never could.

I'm sorry to hear this.

         I want to be serious this time.  Really.  I know I never act serious.  But this time I am.  I think this is as important as life or death.  I need to be serious.  And I need you to hear me.  You are the only person I can do this with.  I need you to hear me. 

I hear you.

         I wanted to tell you, you were my first and best friend.  I wanted to tell you that when you were here.  But I didn’t know it then.  Now that you are gone, it is all too clear.  You were my friend but I never told you.  I think you knew.  But I should have told you.  You knew you were my friend but I never told you that I thought you were.  Did you know I thought you were?

Yes, I knew.

         I wanted to tell you about the trees.  They were little.  Saplings.  We weren't friends.  But I could see your house.  Because they were so little.  Just planted.  And I knew all about you.  I can't see your house anymore.  I used to be able to and I could see what you did.  And I knew about you.  Now, the trees are big.  And we are friends.  And I cannot see your house.  Now, I wonder if I know you.  I used to know.  When the tree were small.  And then the trees grew.

I watched them grow.

         I wanted to tell you about God.  I think about that a lot.  Maybe it rules my life, now.  Or maybe it always did.  But not like before.  Or now.  When the trees were small, you had only love and I had only hate.  I always envied you for that.

I could have guessed as much.

         I wanted to tell you so many things.  I wanted to tell you about love and insanity, sex and suicide.  They are so much alike.  And they are so different.  I guess they are different but they mean the same thing.  But you don't know that.  You just don't know these things.  I wanted to explain these things to you.  Because you don't know.  And hopefully never will.  That wouldn't be the person I met.  That would be someone else.  Someone like me.  And I do not like me.  But I like you.  And I wanted to explain these things to you.  I wanted to tell you what happened.  But I couldn't until I explained these things to you.  Or else you wouldn't have understood.

Tell me what happened.

         I wanted to tell you I was scared.  I don't know what I was scared of.  I was afraid of everything.  Fire.  Dogs.  Dark.  Darkness.  But being afraid and being scared are different.  Afraid is always there.  Scared isn't.  That's why I did what I did.  All of it.  I was just scared.  And I did not want anyone to know.  Except you.  I wanted you to know.  But I couldn't tell you.  I'm scared.  I wanted you to know.

You could have told me.

          I wanted to tell you about our walks.  You used to have so much fun.  You used to talk and laugh.  But our walks.  I hated them.  I laughed for you.  You were so happy.  And I didn't want to upset you but I really hated them.  I wanted to tell you why I hated them.  But I never had a chance.  And now that I do, I forgot.  Now, all I can say is that I just did.  But when I remember, I'll write it down and tell you later.  Do you understand?

No.

         I wanted to tell you about the necklace and the tears.  See, he gave them to me.  First, the necklace.  Then, the tears.  He tried.  I think he tried.  I’m not so easy to deal with.  But I really think he tried.  The necklace.  It was so pretty.  See, it was symbolic.  The pendent was a locket.  It was pretty.  But there was never a picture inside.  It was empty.  Like him.  Really pretty outside.  But inside ... nothing.  Empty.  I was the clasp.  And the chain was the relationship.  And it broke.  The chain did.  It was so symbolic.  The chain broke.

Sorry to hear that.

         I wanted to tell you what was happening to my mind.  I wanted to tell you about the voices.  And I wanted to tell you about the spiders that live in my hair and bite my face.  I wanted to tell you about the worms in my soul.  I wanted to tell.  I should have told you.  But you wouldn’t have believed me.  You would have laughed at me.  Or worse, you would have believed me.  And you would have said it was a fitting punishment for the likes of me.  I couldn’t tell you. You might have believed me.

I don’t think you should be punished.

         I wanted to tell you about when someone close to you died.  I don't remember how I knew.  I don't remember the clues.  But I knew.  You were very sad.  And I was sad for you.  You said you wanted to be alone.  You didn't want to talk.  So, I told you that I loved you.  And I was there when and if you were ready.  I know it sounds mean and trite.  I don't know who died.  But part of me died with them.  You never talked to me.  Never told me.  I wanted to ask how you were doing but I never knew how.  I want to ask you now but I still don't know how.

I don't know what to say.

         I wanted to tell you that I miss you when you are gone.  I miss you more when you are here because I talk to you less.  You hurt my feelings.  But I don't know how to tell you that.  I don't want you to laugh at me.  You hurt my feelings but I can't tell you that because nobody knows that I can feel.

I know that you feel.

         I wanted to tell you... the trees.  See, you live sort of across the street and I can see your bedroom light from my bedroom window.  I used to be able to see... before.  Before the trees grew.  Eight years is a long time.  Now, sometimes in the winter, when there aren’t any leaves, I can see light through the trees.  I like to think that it is your bedroom light.  I know you are gone.  But I like to think that you are not.  I like to think that in the morning I will see you.  It’s easier to sleep that way.  And it’s sad in the morning, with only the sunlight in the trees.  Sunlight makes everything real.  But in the dark, the light can be anything I want.

What do you want?

         You were supposed to be my friend.  And you're not.  You tell me things.  Tell me your problems.  But you never tell me what happens in the end.  You ask my advice and then never tell me if you take it.  It makes me angry.  But I cannot get angry at you.  You are my friend and you are far away and so I cannot be angry at you.  Instead, I get angry that you are far away.  Angry that I did not go away, too.  Mostly, I get angry at the trees.  They grew and pushed us apart.  I think the trees made you leave, but I'm not sure.  They hurt us.  Now, I'm trapped on my side of the trees and you on yours.  So before they grow anymore, I had to tell you that I was scared and that I love you.  And now, I have.  Now, I don't know what to do because, even though you say it won't happen, I know someday there will not be any light through the trees.
© Copyright 2013 P.J. Monroe (wordsmithpj at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1940475-The-Light-Through-the-Trees