In book 1 of "Forlorn", the introduction of two vacant souls at exemplified through the narrative of an anonymous friend. Telling the tale of the two souls- illustrating a picture so clear. A dramatic, touching tale of loneliness, hopelessness, sadn...
His appearance slightly differed. Chiseled jawline, higher cheekbones, smaller nose, wetter hair, perky lips, lighter skin, eyebrow raise. His portrayal sketched hideously. His popularity lunged higher. His wealth heightened louder. His heart exuded heavier. His sorrow matured tremendously. His trust suffered extensively. His loneliness killing him slowly. His good portrayed bitterly. His willingness steered straight. His love at stake.
His heartfelt heavy and stiff while thousands below stood screaming with pumping blood through their veins. Excitement paining their intestines. Tears of love, joy, hope, and happiness escaped the eyes of the unaware. His suite was filled with sounds of emptiness, loneliness. His mannequin statues stood hard and unbothered - unaware of the man's selfish use. The elegance of the hotel room taken for granted, causing sadness to the golden-colored curtains that hung desperately for admiration.
His queen-sized bed stood at the center. The drapes that decorated it in position. The soft satin sheets yearning for his touch, his love. The pillows plumped to assist relaxation. The thick quilted Versace covers laid across the accommodations in line for the man's activities. The heated mattress is eager for his frail body to indulge in the rightful act of sleep. The room's atmosphere filled with dry sensations and little none soul. A room of elegance and he only sat on the emotionless, hard, creme colored, rough, edgy floor.
His mind wandered and traveled miles ahead with no destination. He could only think. He couldn't speak what he was thinking, he couldn't write what he was thinking, he couldn't paint what he was thinking, he could only feel what he was thinking. He couldn't tell what he was feeling, he couldn't comprehend what he was feeling, he couldn't express what he was feeling, but he felt.
Sighing, the sound of the annoyed microwave machinery yelled throughout the room in alert of the one-hundredth popcorn bucket that would soon fill the lonely man's void. He retrieved the nightly snack before placing his white socks on the strong coffee table and plopping his behind into the comfortable plush recliner seating that stood alone in an area of loud television. There, he watched old western tales. Tales that were oddly satisfying to hear. The sound of the guns being drawn, the wind howling, the horses charging, and the voices of adventuring men.
He would spend his nights ahead the exact same way. His body comfortable, his void filled, his mind racing, his statues annoyed, his company frail - while, she sat motionlessly. Her mind driving herself off of a cliff. Her heart perishing slowly, one beat at a time. Her hands kissed together, prepped under her chin. The same chin that accompanied the nose, the burning cheeks, the colorless skin, the dry lips, the red eyes compressed with warm salty tears. He shaking vigorously. No hand to hold, no shoulder to cry, no ear to listen, no mouth to comfort, no arms to warm, no heart to feel; she was lonesome.
His body laid coldly and the long beeping sound of his monitor sung a harmony of death. She watched, waited, and listened until the room was filled with breathing bodies.
"Miss, Maze, " a cold touch, a soft voice. "Come."
Her feet dragged, her body clenched, her eyes stung, her heart ached. A hand leads her to the waiting room of none, dropping her stiff body into the cold hospital chair of loneliness. The nurse squatting to be heard through clogged ears. She maneuvered the strands of hair hiding the results of a broken woman to see the dull eyes of a once hazel-eyed woman. Gathering her thoughts, she sighed, an emotion of worry, guilt, sympathy.
"I'm here." Her words soft, elegant, stretched, but not meaningful to the recipient.
For every death, there should be planted a tree. A tree where we watch beautiful life begin to be reborn. A tree of fruit, love, long branches of green leaves. Green leaves of old burdens that fall. A tree of comfort, hope, and prayer. A tree of company, because oh boy, did they feel lonely.
Billions of people, several different races, different gender identifications, and still no-one to know. No one to hold. No one to heal. How could you be so lonely?
Can you put lonely souls jointly in need of security, love, and company? Me too. I thought the same thing.
