~Writing is a soft spoken art; built on silence and careful thought.

Its an art that thrives on experience coupled with imagination. Built on pain and the suffering of a heart; the joys and salvation of the soul~

0. She waited at the entrance to the hotel. He was already fifteen minutes late. Her eyes were close to tearing but she fought them back and held a siege against them; forcing them behind her eye lids. She checked her phone again if he had texted but her phone hadnt vibrated or put out any notification of a call or text. She still checked her mail to see if there was anything. She was feeling the paranoia begin to creep in. She held steadfast to her ground; it wont happen again. Even though he had said that one too many times. She could remember every time; each flashing back like an old movie but still as vivid as ever. The moments that defined where she was; still trying to save something that had so many times proven to be lost. 1. ~Saving what cannot be saved; loving what cannot be loved~ Mark waited for that moment when his breath would begin to give him space to think. Sadly, it didnt. All he could hear was the inhalation and exhalation. It had got painful over the past few months. He knew why but he didnt want to admit it. Admitting pain was as much of a crime as stealing to him; the cost of being strong. He took out his cell and saw the missed calls and unread texts. He felt inadequate that he couldnt fix what he had broken. He couldnt forgive himself for that and didnt want to. He had to find retribution but he couldnt find it here. There was nothing he could do that could recover what he had already lost. The pills had kept him at the edge not letting him jump over; so close. You have all these gifts; why are you here? These were the questions that circled him when he visited home. His mother was more than supportive. She had been pulled into his downward spiral of his escapades. He felt that his pain had transcended and become the pain of many. The hearts he had broken and the fiery expectations he had extinguished haunted him with every blink. (And thats why he preferred to sit staring into nothing so that his memory would not torment him but he could do nothing about the sounds. Even in silence, the sounds haunted him.) Maybe if they understood the turmoil within then they would explain the loss without. As a child, they called him gifted. Always confident and ready to articulate his views. He was part of the athletics team, played a pretty good game chess, an amazing guitar player and a writer who showed so much promise. All who were around him either cherished what he was becoming, some feared him but others feared for him and what he would become. For whom much is given, much is expected and to whomever much is expected, a great fate or greater downfall lies ahead of them. It was getting late and the cold was creeping in. He stole a glance across the street. A fancy restaurant. A young lady stood outside the doors to the restaurant and looked rather uneasy. She kept on checking her phone. She was expecting someone, he figured, and that someone had stood her up. The night had worn out and the restaurant was almost empty at the time. He found himself observing the girl and somehow admiring her. A kind of pity moved his heart but he could easily remember what such a feeling

had done to him, and others once before. His heart returned to whence it came from and he began walking away. 2. ~What weve lost we try to find; the never ending search to fill the void in mind. This is the h uman condition~ Pain found itself manifested within her in many ways. It wasnt the abusive uncle, backstabbing friends or the broken home. It was the loneliness that hid her away from the world. She had had a good childhood relative to others of her time. Her father was in real estate while her mum worked as a lawyer. She had enough dolls to play with and the perfect environment for her pleasure. She scored well in school and did her best to get into games. But something was missing. Something was always missing. She knew what it was but neglected to acknowledge it. She kept strong on the matter; never letting her feelings show. She knew she needed the attention; that maternal and paternal attention that was never there, or if it was, that was never shown and so she never felt. Maybe that was why she was constantly on speed dates and trying to find that guy who would show her that kind of love that would never end. She was probably looking in all the wrong places because all she had was several nights of intimacy and a three week relationship with a married man. Seemingly luck never found its way to her. Obscured by imposters in masks of love and hope all in the chance.