Heart's doing

I have always done this part badly. Approaching them and telling them what I want to say has always been a difficult task. And this one doesn’t look easy at all. There is no way out of it. I can not escape from it. I look at her through the glass window. She’s sitting on the bench outside. I have to tell her what I have to tell her. Even the thought of telling her what the heart had done (to me?) strips the courage off my mind.

It’s always been difficult for me. To remove the “mask”. Approach them. Tell them what I have to tell them. And then wait silently for their reaction. For the explosion of a volcano. Or for the fall of the silent rain. Or for a look that could be sharp enough to pierce my heart.

It’s not that I am scared of telling them what I have to tell them. It’s the consequences that bother me. It’s the consequences that make the move difficult. It takes immense courage to tell them the truth. You could hurt them. You could break their heart. Or worse, the somber look that they might give you could be impossible to avert. It’s not an easy thing to do man, I tell you. Does take a lot of guts.

Only last year, I had a similar task (self imposed?) into my head. There was this girl, sitting outside again. On the very bench of the campus that I’m looking at now. Oh she was pretty. I liked her. It would be crime to break her heart with what I had to tell her. Her eyes were like pearls of fire, whatever that means. Her hair flowed down like a waterfall nature couldn’t create. Her lips were like fresh petals of a red rose. Only if I had seen the hidden thorns…. I was going to tell her what I had to tell her. I was going to spill the truth, tell her what was in my heart. I approached her. She looked up. I wanted to look away from those eyes. They were piercing. And. With all force, I mounted all the courage that I had. Told her. And stood there. Waiting for a response. She didn’t say a thing. She didn’t complain. Didn’t cry, scream, abuse or show any kind of emotion. But her eyes failed to conceal her mind. I can never forget those eyes. I wanted her to scream at me. Abuse me. At least cry. It would have been easier to handle than those piercing heart-broken eyes. She looked at me for less than a second (enough to kill me), lifted herself and went in. I had failed twice, one failure following the other.

And time rolls forward again, bringing me back to the present which has presented me with a similar situation. I conjure all the courage that I have, and push the door. I’ve never walked slower. Approaching this girl looks like a tough task. I hope I walk along these green walls for eternity and not make it to her. That would save all the trouble. But even the slowest tortoise reaches the finish line. And I reach it too. She, suddenly aware of my presence looks up. I look at her eyes and they reflect the sky in them. I can clearly see the clouds of hope in her eyes. I wish what I say turn those clouds into silent rain, or better a violent thunder. That would be easy to handle than the silence, which just causes the clouds to darken so that it’s impossible to look through them. I open my mouth. The clouds in her eyes are now pregnant with hope. And I fail again, just like the heart. I suddenly am aware that I can’t say it properly. The knowledge of my inability to do this part properly has wound itself around my tongue. I can not lie. I can not manipulate my words to keep her from exploding. I can not run away. It’s do and die. I have to remove the mask. I have to tell her about the heart (mine?, her?, his?). The heart that started it all. The heart that has brought me to her. I tell myself: Forget the heart. Just tell her. And closing my brain to the imminent explosion, I say to her: ”I’m very sorry ma’am. I couldn’t save your brother. The heart was just too weak”.