Two Feet Away

November 19, 2011
By eyesmaladjusted BRONZE, Quezon Ciy, Other
eyesmaladjusted BRONZE, Quezon Ciy, Other
2 articles 2 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
I write only because
There is a voice within me
That will not be still
- Sylvia Plath


A two-feet distance serves as an iron gate.
Upon the drummer’s stool before her, he’s situated;
indifferent.
The drumsticks pummel against each other: one, two three.
Faultlessly, he plays his favourite song.
The beat echoes rudely in his chest;
an electric shock straight from his fingertips.
He likes how alive it makes him feel.
His lips curve to form a hint of a smile and he looks up to the crowd
with corpulent heart.
Nothing more matters for the music and himself have become one.
He thus remains indifferent
to how she spies on him from two-feet distance,
wishing that he knows her the way she knows him
or the way she thinks she knows him.
Except the heavens were away and the stars forgot they luminesce,
so the two outlive to play the game
stranger to stranger.
She hurts herself by gazing for far too long,
and he’s too invincible to glance in her direction.
Two feet away.
She listens to his music and marvels at the thought
of having someone to love her as much as he loves his song.


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