The Request

The night was as hollow as the opaqueness of the moonless sky.  Not even the cold tears that poked whatever skin he exposed could awaken his desire to write what he felt.  He was lacking inspiration and the burden of abandonment wore him down.
It was at this point that he thought of a plan.  His instincts told him that it would be an impossible request to make, but he dared for the sake of creativity.

"You must be outta your mind!" she exclaimed.  It was clear to him that she did not like the request, though it was also evident that she was not bothered by the ridiculousness of his demand.
"No," he began, "I've never been more in my mind as I am now."

He stood there in silence, waiting for her eyes to divert from his - they did not.  And he waited like this for what seemed to be an hour of a speechless tableaux.  If her body language could scream it would yell of confusion but it also let him realize that she was thinking, decoding, and formulating.  She was torn between wanting to help him and wanting to run away.

"If you're so IN your mind," she answered finally breaking the silence, "then this should be easier than what you think."
"Yes, it should be," he replied, "but I am in there alone with nothing to provoke me."
Not surprisingly, her facial expression showed a mild level of perplexity to his words.  Before she could continue he interrupted her by insisting on his request.  "Just do it."
"You know I can't," she answered in shame.  She was not shy about the request, but felt ashamed that she would be unable to help him as she had in the past.
"Then I shall wait until you can," he replied with a tone of voice that signalled the end to the exchange of their thoughts.

Silence -
Even the crickets of the night succumbed to their words and listened intently to the white noise that filled the room.

"No man can walk out on their own story."

Time is distant and brief; it waits for noone.

Whoever said that "it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all" has not truly felt the weight of brevity, nor has reasoning captured the essence of distance as a loop that comes and goes.

So, how do you say good bye to a ghost that refuses to make an appearance?

Telepathy.

With the nature of words, the mind can learn to defy the physics of origin. Space does not belong to the theory of particles, and matter is but a fragment of various shared instances that come into play as six-degrees of separation. Gravity; therefore, is playful and non-existent.

It is illogical and senseless to believe that time could be fast-forwarded when the physicality of our being is stuck re-living and re-inventing the past.

And just like that, Time is Gone.

Midnight conversations bathed in Tequila

If a drink was meant to blurr the speech of memory, then the written word was meant to revive the metaphors of midnight conversations - when night becomes day and noon becomes a ghost of hidden intents.

The confessions are traced to the boldness of their flow and he is entertained by her sudden disposition.

"None that is said here tonight can be blamed on my own intent," she began to excuse her direct discourse, hoping that he'd believe her liberal remarks.  "I blame it on the tequila."

But as he struggled to keep his eyes focused on her, movement within his thoughts kept his instability at a slower pace.

"By this time tomorrow," he began, "I will have forgotten it all."
"Then we shall await the moment when The Eye blinks," she said.
"No proof," he interrupted, "as if it never happened."