He knows everything he wants to say. Goes about his day thinking of ways to explain and translate his feelings into lyrical sentences that sway. Occupied with work and a lunch date with an old friend he keeps his thoughts safe. Keeping it all in his mind, there is no time to sit down and get the words out. Throughout the day the thoughts race in his mind. Lose sentences float around, not being able to stitch them together they make him unfocused. So he keeps on going, keeping himself busy with phone calls and emails. Hoping that he can push through his work as fast as he can without making any mistakes. Will his colleagues notice his absence? How he is behaving in a way they have never seen before?
When the day comes to an end, he clocks out of work and walks the bustling streets to clear his head. Hoping the letter he wrote in his mind will hold on a little longer before he gets back home. The words he wants to speak can only find meaning when pen meets paper, too long for the typewriter he uses for his poems, too heavy for printed text. When he arrives back home he drops his bag on a chair, not bothered to clean out its contents. He turns on the kettle and kicks his shoes off, ready to sit back and relax for just a bit. But the thoughts in his head catch up to him. The sentences flowing through his mind, eager to get out before they become a jumbled mess.
Before the thought escapes him he walks over to his desk, grabs a random notepad and his favorite pen. He switches on the desk lamp and lets himself sink into his chair. Holding the pen between his fingers he stares not to the paper but through the window to the outside. There is no commotion or movement to see, just an empty sidewalk and streetlamps that begin to illuminate the darkening sky. He breaks his gaze before he loses himself and turns back to the task at hand. The letter he wants, no needs to write, before he slips away. With trembling hands, he grips the pen a little tighter, bringing it slowly down towards the paper. But where to start, a simple hello will not suffice. The room around him seems to dim and darken around the edged, making the page appear brighter but slightly trembling. The words will not flow, sentences are not coming together. Did he wait too long?
He sits in silence for a moment, trying to collect himself before he breaks down. He knows he cannot wait any longer before he leaves this all behind. A sip of his tea, a deep inhale of air. Again he picks up his pen and this time brings it down. He starts off slowly, curving each line with grace. Words become sentences, swaying in lyrical ways. Never rushing his movements for this letter will be too precious, holding so much explanation for that one person to read. His heart pounding in his ears, his breath becomes shallow. He can no longer see clearly through his eyes, his view blurry and trembling, the mist of tears getting thicker. Making the light of his desk lamp flicker as if it might fail.
Brushing away the tears before they can escape his eyes and roll softly over his cheek, he folds the piece of paper neatly, being as precise as he can be. Sliding it carefully in the envelope, making sure it fits perfectly. And as a final touch, he picks up a small polaroid capturing his most important memory. On its back he scribbles a short message before he slips it between the pages of the letter he will soon send on its way. Closing the envelope the three lines echo in his mind.
I’m sorry I'll miss you Please keep it safe
One response to “Prompt: flickering lights at your desk // Letters to September – 05”
[…] prompts that I’ve been using and what was your personal favorite? Mine is the combination of Flickering lights at your desk and Snapshot. I have found that if you read them back to back they create a story together. As if […]