Friday, January 19, 2007
Note: Wrote this piece as homework for Literature. The teacher gave a class activity. He gave four songs, and students were to pick one favourite line from each song in their groups, and write a piece of prose with the lines in the prose. The words in bold are the song lyrics. Try and guess which songs they're from! I call this "Radio".
Turn up your radio.
I’m sure I’m there. I always was. I still am.
How about turning it on first? You never did so. You don’t do so.
From the time you first told me I was beautiful, I knew you were the one.
Things did not work out. It could have. Perhaps I was too insecure. Perhaps I just didn’t listen. Perhaps I wasn’t who you thought I was at first.
You never told me, so I never knew.
Give me a chance again, to be alone in your ear. Give me a chance to explain, to tell you why.
You never gave me a chance, that’s why I need you to hear my side of the story.
I still remember your face, your clear, hazel eyes that gazed upon me with such tenderness, such adoration.
Such pride.
Your hands, so large and protective, always covered mine so well. They were rough and calloused. They’ve been through so much. But they were so gentle.
They are still that way now. But I can feel them tearing, then ripping my heart. But this doesn’t matter, does it?
No, I don’t believe so. It never mattered. It still doesn’t.
I still hear your voice every night, before I drift into deep slumber. So reassuring, so calm, so masculine.
I get scared sometimes, because I hear you shouting at me. But I never seem to be able to understand how, in the end, I was calmed by the voice that frightened me just moments before.
Do you remember us together? Me, with my healthy mass of black hair, and radiant complexion, playing tag with the little children on the beach, and you, simply standing by and watching absently with a distant smile on your face, imagining life without me?
No, you never bothered. You never will.
Was it because of who I was?
Well, I’m different now. I don’t think you’ll know me anymore.
It’s a brand new start, I suppose.
My hair is gone, my skin is pallid, and I can walk no longer. My is the whisper of a beautiful red and black frog, and my hands shake whenever I lift them.
Can you be proud of me again? Can you look at me with tenderness and adoration again?
Can you even hear me?
No? Blast the radio, then.
Do I scare you?
Don’t let me.
But don’t hate me. It’s just that no one makes me feel this way.
I cried at 4:47 AM
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Did you hear me this time?
