Bargaining

I stand here, at the gate, at the door, at the barrier, rapping my knuckles against the stone until they come away bloody.  If I just keep at it, if I don't give up, if I persevere...surely, someone will answer me?  I just have to prove myself.  If I am loud enough, if I am tireless in my requests, if I refuse to leave my post, won't someone answer me? 

After all this time, have I simply swapped my position- horizontal for vertical-not an inch away from that woman who put her nose to the asphalt and screamed like an animal? 

I look down at my feet, as I continue to knock, planning what to say if I am answered.  What can I offer?  What do I have that would make a difference to anyone?  My belongings?  My soul?  My body?  I will give everything I have for one more moment, just one.  I won't be greedy.  Please answer.

Around me, on the ground, all the discarded calendar pages that mark the days of hell drift like snow.  All the paper and paint, my renderings and words so much fluff compared to this one undeniable need to see her face.  It never leaves my mind.

No one else understands the feeling of being trapped in time.  Or the sense of failure, not just to have let her go, in the first place, but to be stuck at this place as everyone else around me moves forward, smiling expectingly...come on, Nick, let's walk this way, okay?

Don't they know I can't?  I can't take one willful step away from her no matter what it costs.

I am the one you pity at the fancy restaurant who doesn't know what to do with the steamed lemon-scented napkin that is brought to you.  Everyone smiles with a mixture of compassion and amusement and demonstrates for my slow, addled brain, but I just sit there, frozen, with the hot towel in my hands and begin to wipe the table around my place setting.  The waiter looks on, embarrassed.  My cheeks burn with humiliation, but I clean the table the best I can.  It's all I know to do.