The Lighthouse*
By Sarah Holden
The winds howl around me, leaving me feeling emptier than ever before. I've been alone for years now. The sound of the waves crashing endlessly and the silence of time between storms has become eternal. I have no choice, I just can't leave. I'm grounded on this land, here, this is where I stand. I am alone, with the emptiness, to wait for someone to save me from it.
A younger man had lived with me for some time. His name was Simon. He was an interesting man, both dark and intricate, yet also warm and tender. His hair was chestnut and curly, which caused it to flop around in the wind. Sometimes, I wished I could show him what he looked like when he thought that nobody was watching. At first he seemed very unsure, whether it was unsureness of himself or of his ability to take care of me, he still carried it on his shoulders-visible for anyone who was to see him. He was odd, but we were friends.
At first he barley spoke, maybe a word here or there to himself. But it was very rare to hear anything come out of his mouth. I wanted him to speak so badly, but he never would. For so long we sat in silence, nothing but the sound of the waves, the wind and the birds calming the emptiness I felt. Now that I had him, I wanted him to just speak to me about anything, and everything.
Then, one day he began to. I think at first it was an accident, a slip up, as he was talking to himself. “It feels so weird to talk to myself, I feel as if I may go crazy if I can’t talk to someone.” He was silent before I saw a smile form on his face. “I’m not alone, not really anyway. You’re the best listener around right? I mean, that’s all you can do…listen.” I realized he was talking to me, and thus began a beautiful adventure.
He spoke of different countries, music, movies, and electronics and technology that I had never even heard of. His favorite thing to talk about was love. It was something that Simon craved. He sometimes would tell me his vision of his life. It always included a wife, a family, and a home somewhere beautiful. I always was envious. I wanted to be a part of his big plan.
He spoke to me a lot about his family. They lived far away, and though he called them almost every day, I could see that he missed them. I tried to imagine what it felt like to have an unconditional love, like that of a mother or father. But I never could.
When he wasn’t talking I wanted him to, and when he was talking I was praying that he would never stop. Soon his voice began to be a melody, a song that repeated in my head long
after he had gone to bed. I could see in great detail the brown sand of a desert, or the luscious
forests that belonged some place that I could never see.
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