Losing Yourself | Teen Ink

Losing Yourself

April 25, 2008
By Anonymous

I can feel these memories beat within me, memories of you. They full me up and slowly spill out covering the floor with their sticky remnants. Like the old Halloween candy you left in my car. My eyes itch with the crusty residue of the saline droplets that rained from my eyes just moments after you left me. Shadows begin to darken the skin under my eyes and the falling sunset strikes the reflective surface of the ocean with reds, blues, and yellows. The shoreline begins to disappear under the tide, only to re-emerge a farther away than I thought it was.

Feet kick stray pebbles from the asphalt, making the shadows shudder. The muggy heat trapped in the slight smell of gasoline and beach salt. Inhaling the stop the flood of tears in the memory of you the scent slides into my nose and lights the nerves on fire. Sweating hands wipe my nose deftly to ease the sensation somewhat. Climbing into my car my hands search my pockets for the keys, fumbling with them they eventually find their way into the ignition. The car starts with a tired sigh, and as if on autopilot my hands lead the car out of the parking lot and onto the streaks of blacktop that litter drying fields. They encircle each other, cross each other, and eventually move away from each other. Separating from a path that they thought would be followed until they reached the dark blue ocean.

Finding a way home on twisting roads that covet treacherous falls all the while wiping away parched tears was not the way I would picture any day. But this day soon caught up with me, creeping along the near nonexistent shadows of my happiness. When the last ray of sunshine left my world it pinned me to the ground and forced me to taste its sour kiss. I wished more than anything that you were here to chase that taste away.

The day is falling the night descends. Stars begin to make their appearance and the seductive blanket of the night will envelope the poor unsuspecting fools, enticing them to fall in love with a figment of their imagination. My feet trace the path they’ve created to find the place conceived from passion, seclusion, and myself. My place.

The amp is plugged and set to full volume. All the cords are arranged in chaotic order so as no one will trip. Stars strike their menial light on the speakers that were set to gather dust, and are currently prepared to serve their purpose.
Calloused fingers caress the strips and strings of polished metal with nostalgic tenderness. Flipping the strap onto the shoulder, wiry arms slide onto the metal balancing the contorted contraption between baby soft palms. Callused fingertips graze the strings lightly fingering the frets they make a pattern of keys. Chapped lips part for a moment, releasing the tension in the vocal cords. A single hand with fingers arranged in a bud-like figure raise with a small strip of plastic. There is a moment of silence the pressure builds before the hand plummets from its perch and the explosion ensues.

It’s all set up. The cords still plugged, the guitar still ruling at its perch. The air still has that expectant silence, the quiet before the storm. I move methodically but not automatically, checking all the cords, testing out what I need to, and finally it’s all ready. Fingering the distorted metal that has come to be my salvation I find my voice, and soon after release my heart from its crumbling cage.

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This article has 1 comment.

on Jul. 26 2009 at 1:09 am
Hope_Princess BRONZE, Hebron, New Hampshire
4 articles 4 photos 376 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Hope sees the invisible, feels the intangible, and achieves the impossible."

Such powerful description and emotions. I love it!

Keep writing!