Rivers

*Note: This is something I wrote as an English assignment around 8 years ago. It's pretty shoddy due to my age and skill level at the time. Some of the feelings expressed herein are pretty fresh in my mind, even though now it's many years later and I've since joined the Military and my life is of a much better quality than before. I thought it was interesting to peer into the way my mind used to work as a very lonely little boy. It's also a little humorous. I expect grammatical errors due to its age, I didn't want to take away from the charm of it by fixing it.


Two whispers caress the night veil, giving voice to an otherwise silent cirque of waving grass, stars and an empty highway. Complimenting each other’s raspy figure, they move along in a wave, as two parallel rivers tracing to different origins but coalescing into a delta at the beginning of a vast, black ocean. One is very cold, and following its motion with his fingers he wonders how far away it began, perhaps in the stars, twisted by the tornadic dance of the Earth. The other is warm, and pursuing it leads him to his own lips.

Like before he wonders where it began. Closing his eyes and leaning back onto the pavement he follows the course of the river, beginning on his temples, his hand waves down, following the warmth. The journey ends in his chest, all at once feeling woeful and sad, his heart lunges for his throat, as if the cold night air would be a warmer bed. He knows this feeling. It subsides, as it often would, and again he looks to the stars.

Every “what if” question begins with a “why not.” He would often ask aloud, “why can’t we go to those stars?” Shortly following would be, “What if we could? What if each star is a camp fire? Imagine how many people there would be out there! They’re lucky they’re there.” Half closed and burning from his intent stare, his eyes would shift to the moon. Then another “what if” question.” “What if there is someone out there who could love me? And I wonder if they’re looking at the same moon as me.”

Images and words pour through his mind, of his brother, of advice, of fate. He doesn’t question them anymore; they’ve made sense for a long time now. And they’ve stopped hurting. “Some are meant to be alone. Some are meant to live sad lives to benefit others so that they have ways of feeling better and being happier about being them. When people see me they instantly feel better ‘cause they’re not me. That’s my purpose here.”

Then another “why not.” He quickly banishes the thought, unwilling to entertain the question. The “what if” that follows it hurts too much. But he can’t control his thoughts. “Why can’t I be with someone?” With ease and without hesitation the answer surfaces, “Because.” “What if I could be? With someone I mean?” Instantly thoughts of warmth rush his mind; love, care, gentleness, steadfast faith and devotion, the absolute assuredness that he could and would do anything and everything for the ones he loved, without question, fear, regret or the slightest hesitation. He remembered he would die for these people who don’t even exist. A smile slowly creeps across his face and his chest feels warm. Opening his eyes and seeing the night sky, the same moon and empty highway, like ghostly pickpocket, the cold reaches inside of him and snatches those thoughts, he shivers and again his heart bolts to the top of his throat.

He cringes, a tear falls and an excruciating sigh escapes as a colder wind blows. Reaching upward and feeling his breath clash with the breeze, he begins to retrace the rivers, hoping for while knowing the impossibility of their leading him to different places than before.