A stuttering heart


Sometimes I feel like the world will collapse over me. Like I owe it something, but I don’t know what. I keep myself safe by saying little. Little of what is stinging me. I swallow it so as not to intrude on the happiness living out there, loudly, hurtfully. I don’t want to be that person that sings her tears out loud. I don’t want the echo of my pain to carry over. In a way, it feels wrong to do that. Why would I want to spread that? It’s fucked up. I linger in the dark hoping to catch a glimpse of the light. But the world I see is bleak and barely the light shines in on me. I catch only the greys, maybe some beige. This dull melancholy existence likens to bloodletting. Cutting the vein of sadness and letting it out. Feeling this release but still tormented.

I didn’t sign up for this. This is mine, however, mine to own. It belongs to me and I am responsible for it. There is nothing to do except recruit some support, some guidance. Navigating this is not a one-person job. It is difficult for me to find that guide, the answers to all my questions. It is that. Isn’t it? Questions needing answers. The solution to the need. The need to relate, to feel loved, to feel grand, happy. I doubt I will find it anytime soon. I mean, from where I’m standing time moves at a glacial pace. It lingers in front of me like a floating feather. Except, it’s heavy on me. Death would be sweeter than watching it land.

Sometimes I wish for death as an answer. But… I’m not that lucky. It would be like a game show. What’s behind door number three? With my luck, I’ll get a one-month subscription of steaks. I’d be forced to hold dinner parties and fake out smiles, hugs, and kisses. That would totally suck. Yes, it would. That deep-sea diving trip where a shark eats me, it was behind door number one. I’m not good at life, full of number three doors. So, death is not my answer.

Is it this? These thoughts plague me like a puzzle. These feelings that twist and grind up against my liver, pushing death against me but not really doing much to kill me. I feel squeezed like a tight rope. Others balancing on me, needing me taught. I remain so. I’m starting to give, however. It isn’t pretty, this wretched thing I’ve become. This haunting sadness of a person that can’t keep her tears at bay. Poor tortured soul. No! Don’t feel sorry for me! I am this way out of my own volition. No number of pills will bring me back. I’m lost for good. Too far gone. Nothing and no one can save me. I’m nobody, a zero. Umm…

“Excuse me…”

I take a breath to his words and swallow my thoughts with his smile.

“Yes?”

“You’re like a breath of fresh air.”

What?

“Umm… okay. Thanks?”

“I mean… this is a black and white party. You’re wearing grey.”

Looking down at myself, wanting to hide somewhere deep, unreachable.

“Well, the best of both worlds?” I utter, not looking at him. I can’t.

“You must be.”

The way he’s looking at me, his words. His eyes smiling up and down at me. I must be what?

“I’m sorry but looking at you, your sad demeanor. I just want to rescue you. Whatever you’re thinking, feeling. Let me be the one you unburden yourself on.”

What the fuck! I laugh nervously. He’s beautiful and I find myself at a loss for words. No one is that. No one is… him. I look up fully now. His eyes locking mine in.

“I’m sorry. I don’t…”

“I don’t either, but there is something about you. I want to know more. The way your dark hair falls around your face hiding the beauty in your eyes but then you look up like that. Your lips want to smile while your eyes want to cry. That makes me want to know why. Why so sad beautiful?”

No. I’m not this lucky. No. Don’t cry! Don’t ruin this! He changes his stance and comes closer. My face is hiding just as he described. I can’t speak. I’m numb. He caresses me softly, cupping my chin. I’ve never known this feeling. Adrenaline? Butterflies? Both? He has kind eyes. His smile is soothing. For God’s sakes talk to him, woman!

“How do you know Lindsay?”

He laughs, but that is all I can come up with.

“I don’t. I was invited by a mutual friend.”

“Oh. It’s a nice party.”

“You are funny. It sucks or you would be dancing. Come on. Let me rescue you.”

“Why would you want to?”

“Why not? We’re both here, this moment, this place. I believe we’ve both picked the right door for once.”

My eyes widen.

“There’s that smile, escaping for dear life. Beautiful!”

He takes my hand as the music plays but all I hear is his tenderness in my space, in my time. He pulls me close. I let him, so easily, I surprise myself. He smells good. He feels good. I feel good.

“I’m not that good of a dancer.”

“Shh… no one is that good alone. Takes more than one person. Look how easily our bodies are taking to the music.”

“Yes. I –”

“Shh… Just enjoy it. I’m here. I’m here.”

I do and I’m glad.

©2019 Mel Gutiér

5 thoughts on “A stuttering heart

  1. A truly wondrous and enchanting piece… a detailed introduction, followed by a tantalising bit lovely dialogue. …I thoroughly the story
    ““Shh… Just enjoy it. I’m here. I’m here.”
    I do and I’m glad………..”

    Liked by 1 person

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