Dolefully Desired

Look man, I'm telling you right off the bat, I'm high-maintainance, so... I'm not gonna tip-toe around your marriage, or whatever it is you've got goin' there. If you wanna be with me, you're with me.
-Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind



Dolefully desired.

She stares blankly al the window while the sound of the voice rolls over her, slipping not quite grabbing hold. What's the voice saying? She isn't sure. Maybe it's talking about giraffes, maybe about hippos. Perhaps about balloons. How would she know? She's hardly aware of herself, let alone her surrounding; she is absent but present: funny how it hardly makes any difference at all. The raindrops make beautiful drawings on the glass, beautiful sounds, they make the world outside so beautiful. She's always liked the rain, the way it makes the world clean, washes all the filth away; she loves the smell of the wet pavement, the wet grass, the wet air. She loves the rain. Something pulls her away from her thoughts and back to the classroom. The voice speaks to her, but still she doesn't quite grasp the meaning of its words, what is it saying? Slowly her mind comes back to her body and her eyes focus slowly on the source of the voice. She can hear other voices now. They laugh, softly, but clearly. She decides that it is best to focus on the main voice, and does a tremendous effort to open the gates of her own self and let the voice inside. She doesn't know how long its been and she doesn't want to. The voice asks her to leave, which she does. She stands up slowly and walks out. The air in the classroom is moist with the breath of twenty-five students. The smell f their wet clothes impregnates every brick, every chair, their bored eyes stare blankly at the clock that counts seconds as though they were hours. Their lives pass, their youths wither with those seconds. They live only when they are told, they think only when they are told, the mighty second's march lights their path, the path they must follow. She thinks this as she turns her head slightly to look at them before exiting. She knows she is not brave enough. She knows she wouldn't dare. Still, she wishes. Her heart burns with painful desire to be brave enough. To go against the seconds. To make her own path and her own time. She longs for something that would force her to break with everything, that would present her with no choice. But nothing happens. Nothing ever happens. Yet she longs. Perhaps she will forever. Perhaps she´ll die longing. And nothing will ever come, and she'll wonder what could have happened. She'll think that perhaps she could have made something happen, she could have broken with everything. And she'll hate herself. But hating would be useless, because then she would have nothing but her own self, and if she hated herself then she would have absolutely nothing. She thinks all of this as she walks slowly down the hall, listening to the raindrops. She really likes the rain. It makes her happy, it makes her forget. She knows she is not brave enough. Yet she longs.