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Imi was born and raised in Europe, Hungary. After finishing his school years, he moved to Canada to search for a better life. He lived in Toronto for 13 years and currently resides in Vancouver. He is a romantic at heart with a strong desire to always do the right thing. He would like to give hope to the Chinese and Asian ladies with his story and send a message that love eventually finds everybody.
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Suffocating Under Words Of Sorrow    

By Imi
426 Views | 13 Comments | 10/12/2018 2:23:52 PM

"There's so much inside us that can't be erased. It's our blueprint of who we are. Our past, present and future."

 

It's still early when she sits up in bed. The clock reads four in the morning on the night table. Although the curtains are drawn, the room is drenched in moonlight, which is most likely the cause of her awakening. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she turns her head toward the window and stays frozen, like the projection of a memory.

 

I watch her without having the nerve to speak. Her back slouches slightly, long tresses veiling her face. The sensation to touch her is overwhelming. Before I can reach out, she gets out of bed, walks to the window, and opens the curtains, stark naked. Apparently, who might see her is the last thing on her mind. In the slanting moonlight, the umbrages of small twigs achieve what I desired only seconds ago. They reach into the room and begin to caress her curves like sore fingers of the darkness, begging her to leave with them when daylight strikes.

 

Memories rise—graphic, intense memories. They break loose from the deepest fissures of my mind and fall in line like soldiers on a dress parade, a straight, undeviating column holding up the limitations of my consciousness. To dismiss them, from her naked body to the ceiling my eyes wander. My defense is as good as a sieve. I don't even know why I thought a cracked-up ceiling would prevent anything from seeping through. I know I hurt her. I know I failed her. And if that weren’t enough, I failed myself, too. I did all that and then some. But the most torturous thing is the void I feel inside: an emptiness that won't ever be filled.

 

My eyes regain sight of her. She's still idling at the window, her skin radiating eternal youthfulness despite her age. The air between us is inordinately dense, nearly gelatin-like. Even the flow of time slows at moments like this, as it gets silted with debris from the past. I feel like I’ve been captured in the process like a mosquito caught in the snap, preserved for millennia.

 

She starts to shiver, but she doesn't come back to bed, and I don't blame her. Hanging from the back of a chair is her nightgown. She dons it and quietly leaves the room. Moments later, I hear her put on a pot of water to boil in the kitchen. Utensils clatter, and then a thick silence takes hold once again.

 

It was one of her complaints that I kept to myself. She was right. With time, words, touches, and the thrill had withdrawn from our relationship; what warmth we'd once had cooled by the lack of attention and frozen in a kind of strained loyalty.

 

I too gaze out the window to regroup my thoughts. A new day is about to begin; an out-of-this-world, orange sky glares back at me, right in my face. Somewhere a seagull shrills, and a ship blows its horn. It will be a busy day at the docks, I figure. Then, my thoughts derail as slow-moving seconds start to pull on the world, hauling the present backward and enfolding it with the past as if they had been tectonic plates underground. The orange morning sky becomes runny, dripping onto the world below. The seagulls’ shrills fade, the ship horns gagged to yield to the fabric of space-time, which suddenly becomes my shroud. In seconds, I'm carried away from reality.

 

I'm lost somewhere for a while. In an illusory land, yet a sensate world.

 

When I come to, it's dark again. She's reading a book in bed, her back against the headboard, her eyes slowly following the lines. If she isn't ignoring me on purpose, then she's just genuinely immersed in the story. Anna Karenina, the weighty tome has definitely got the volume to set the mood for months to come.

 

In the background, soft music plays. The melody is familiar. It's one of her favorites, not one of mine. We have different taste in music. Hers makes me sleepy; mine makes her annoyed. To be fair, though, I like to watch her working in the kitchen and moving her hips to the rhythm or relaxing in a chair in the living room, eyes shut, listening to love songs. Those long eyelashes of hers are something to wonder about when they tremble with emotions, and the millions of goose bumps on her arms growing in number to the climax of the song, and those tiny teardrops rolling down her cheeks as if the rainbow has begun to cry.

 

Should I tell her all of this? Should I tell her in my eyes she still looks like she did when I met her for the first time? How about our very first date and the awkward moments that turned into awkward touches? After all these years, I still remember. She was smiling. So was I. She ogled my nakedness from under the covers. We were young. She was mine. Gosh . . . there has been so much to say along the way!

 

What happened to us?

 

A lot, I would say, happened. Not verbally, though. More “took place through action,” like in silent movies. Unfortunately, our early years of excitement had been subjugated by the bumps in the road ahead. We both sought out ways to kill the dullness of ordinary existence, like how passengers in a car on a long road trip eventually stop talking and instead engross themselves in reading books, listening to music, and staring at computer screens, phones, tablets, and whatnot while the world whooshes by. Our communication had broken down into half words, gestures, nods, grunts, and glances. I never thought a glance could have so many levels, so much depth and intensity, from the gentle, caressing ones to the boring-a-hole-in-my-skin, reproving ones.

 

As if the Russian Empire has come to a sudden collapse, she shuts the book with an enormous thud and places it on the bedside table. With the same movement, she picks up a photo from atop it and gazes at it, but not for long. In seconds, she drops the framed image onto her lap and begins to cry.

 

I move closer. Her eyelashes quiver, but she doesn't look at me. It is a chair in the corner that she stares at through her tears. As usual, she takes her time recollecting, feeding the pain within her with memories. Note by note, the music fades, and a dead silence fills the room. I walk to the chair she’s looking at and sit in it. Her expression doesn't change. I remain a chair to her—an old piece of furniture, a memory holder, the collector of fine dust of grief.

 

What is it that stops us from saying the words that mean so much to others? Why do we wait until there's no chance to express them? Every missed opportunity is like the cut of a spade, deepening the void within us for future rue. Disappointingly, plentiful are the words that whirl around in my head, unspoken. Their collective mass is so intense that they keep my conscience in orbit with a caustic sense of regret.

 

It's late . . .

 

She holds up the picture once again, gently runs her fingers over the black band in the top corner, and then places it on the bedside table, next to the small urn. Soon after, the light is off. Before the tears have had the break to dry up, she falls asleep.

 

I know it's late. Terribly, interminably late . . .

 

With her sleeping, the room becomes cold like the interior of a tomb. Outside, the city becomes solemnly quiet as the walls begin to bury the moments.

 

Watching her sleep is all I do for a while, and then I close my eyes and quietly wait to confess my feelings in her dreams. But before I have the chance to do so, the silence settles over me like heavy fog over fallen leaves. I’m stifling under its pressure. It’s relentlessly commanding and unimpressed by my tears. Sadly, I know what will ensue. My farewell is but a whisper from under layers upon layers of decaying memories.

 

Copyright owned jointly by Author and CyberCupid Co., Ltd. Breach of copyright will be prosecuted.
Comments
(Showing 1 to 10 of 13) 1 2 More...
#2018-10-12 14:23:36 by JohnAbbot @JohnAbbot

Imi, what powerful, poignant, bittersweet and sadly unwelcome memories you have forced me to recall, against my will and my better judgment. I have lived through that one same night, one time each with several women, and several times with one woman. In different rooms, of course, differents times, different settings, different places on Earth, but the same night nonetheless. Filled with the same heavy, overwhelming weight of foreboding despair, quiet desperation and guilty self loathing.

I hoped not to experience such a night ever again, but you have brought home to roost the understanding that one never knows until it is too late. You don't know it is coming until you are already in the middle of it, and you realize how it will end before you realize it has begun.

I hope for you that you are describing a night from your past and not your future, and I hope for me the same.   

#2018-10-12 16:42:17 by paulfox1 @paulfox1


@JohnAbbot and @Imi

 

"You don't know it is coming until you are already in the middle of it, and you realize how it will end before you realize it has begun."

Wise words, indeed.

#2018-10-12 18:13:21 by Barry1 @Barry1

@Imi5922

 

Beautiful prose, Imi... I enjoyed reading this, thank you.  :)

 

 

 

#2018-10-13 03:49:54 by YinTingYu @YinTingYu

@Imi

Hey Bro, I have tried for the 4th time now to send you response. All gets lost on this site. I don't know what's up.

Just know that I support you in your vigil. I am same but with different details. I just wrote support on the Forum. Hopes it gets through. I want to give you some tunes that may help morale. Remember please, it is the spirit I send and not necessarily the words. For the first selection, I sense you need a "Big Iron".

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=999RqGZatPs

You gotta have some balls when you make the Visa/Immigration office. You are the Arizona Ranger with a big iron but, your iron is in the form of paperwork, pictures, CLM/ALM support and, fountain pen. Sharp and cool with all manners of courteous diplomacy. OK,...just wants to blast them into another dimension but,...refrain.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rsXera-BDpw

Second selection,...My favorite verse is #2 . Jimmy Cliff . "Well the oppressors are trying to keep me down, Making me feel like a clown, And they think they have got me on the run, I say forgive them Lord they know not what they've done, For as sure as the Sun will shine, I'm gonna get my share now what's mine, And then the harder they come,...the harder they fall, One and All" !! Oh Yeah Brother Man.

One more please,...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M1F0lBnsnkE

In the last one you will see 2 of my Dad's girlfriends. 1:05, Ann Miller,...3:23. Moira Shearer (hehe). Don't miss Rita Hayworth crackin' the whip at 2:51. Dig! "Say Whaaaat" ??

Look,...I am the same with visa stuff for my Fiancee. We have the Deep Love thing going on. Spiritual level and physical as well. If plan A dosen't work, we will find another country to set up house/shop for rest of days. No "Tin Horn" government Bullshit will stop us !!  Gawd Damn All them Muthuh Fuqhers!  Just who in the Living and/or Dying Hell do they think they are ??  Sheeuht !!.  :@:D

I ask you to start considering. Have you checked out South America ?? Seems like some pretty good options there. New country, New world,...I sense it could happen for you both.

Imi, I need to jet now. Set another brick in the house sale. You take care and write to me some time. No pressure Bro. If you and Jess need more words from me, just say. I will respond.

Later, Y.T.Y. aka Gongji

#2018-10-13 18:31:30 by autumn2066 @autumn2066

Watching a leaf falling down from a tree, and two, and then three....I see the winter is coming.

My body trembles with the leaf in the wind. I tell myself :"Need to get ready for the winter, the weather could be tougher than we thought."

I turn back to pick up a chopper. Time to cut some wood, no time to write a poem.

Winter is coming, to everyone. 

#2018-10-13 19:35:48 by YinTingYu @YinTingYu

@ Imi

Slight correction please on "Uptown Funk".  2:51 is Not Rita Hayworth. It is Lucille Ball crackin' the whip. Ha!!

#2018-10-14 14:20:21 by Barry1 @Barry1


@autumn2066

 

"My body trembles with the leaf in the wind. I tell myself :"Need to get ready for the winter, the weather could be tougher than we thought."

I turn back to pick up a chopper. Time to cut some wood, no time to write a poem.

Winter is coming, to everyone."

 

Dear Autumn, your sentiments are lovely as usual, but yet here in Australia, winter is ending.  

 

So please rejoice everyone, smile and be happy....

 

SUMMER IS COMING!    8) (sun)(sun) 8)

 

#2018-10-15 03:58:40 by Imi5922 @Imi5922

@YinTingYu

Thank you for the comment.

 

I have watched all three videos. The third one ought to have a prize for the editing. Thanks for sharing.

 

By the way, Gongji, I'm a born rooster by Chinese horoscope and Pisces in the western horoscope. A weird combination, I must say. Roosters, vivid colors, parading in the middle of the barnyard. Fish, lurking under the surface, in the abyss of the recondite. Which one I am, I can't really say; nonetheless, the word animal comes to mind as an accurate portrayal of who I am that oddly enough makes me proud nowadays.

 

You are the second man from this site who tells me to consider South America to live in. One more person will say to me, and I might reconsider it.  

 

Thanks for the comment on the thread as well!

 

#2018-10-15 04:00:50 by Imi5922 @Imi5922

@Barry1

Thank you for your words, Barry. If I had the vocabulary that you posses, I could have made it much more engaging and enjoyable.

#2018-10-17 14:29:47 by melcyan @melcyan

@Imi5299 Well written Imi.

 

Imi you asked "What is it that stops us from saying the words that mean so much to others? Why do we wait until there's no chance to express them?"

 

We tend to think there will always be another day and another opportunity. Right now feels just too uncomfortable. However, right now is all there is. We need to be honest with ourselves and our partner at the same time, regardless of the discomfort. In fact, we need to lean towards the “discomfort”. We need to feel the fear and do what needs to be done anyway.

 

Imi, you began this blog with these words

 

“There's so much inside us that can't be erased. It's our blueprint of who we are. Our past, present and future.”

 

I can identify with the feeling of these words. I sometimes act as if they are true. However, the reality is that we remake ourselves every day. This happens no matter what. For some, that remake is done consciously, but for most of us, it is done unconsciously.

 

In your story Imi, there is a barrier that has grown from many missed opportunities. Why were so many opportunities missed? Is fear the reason? I suspect it is.

 

The following link is a summary of the book “Feel the fear and do it anyway” by Susan Jeffers. It provides a framework for overcoming fears, being present and taking action.

 

http://web.iitd.ac.in/~prbijwe/Book_Abstracts/Feel%20The%20Fear%20and%20Do%20It%20Anyway.pdf

 

 

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