wind chimes and laughter
I hate how you managed to make me feel that day - like I’d know you forever, and like you’d know me too. How wrong I was. That long bus journey turned into a seamless mass of nothing and no conversations. All that late night whispering and laughter, telling the most random teacher stories and talking about music and how “looks don’t matter”. And was I fool to think that all that would translate into something. That when I woke up day after day, yours would be a name etched into my skin and rolling off my tongue with ease. I don’t know if you know this, but I like difficult people. People with strange pasts, strange insecurities. The unpopular, unloved ones. Because I am one of those. By and large, a number in the masses.
But it feels like you’ve got me hanging on a string, like a wind chime going off in the corner of your room that you don’t pay much attention to. A wind chime that keeps ringing in the hope that maybe, you’ll stop what you’re doing, turn around and notice. And listen. Really listen, for those sounds that are practically impossible to hear. Those micro-sounds, which, however small, are really the heart of the wind chime.
And I so hang on that string, as my patience wears out, waiting for you to pause and maybe just ask me for my number. So I can know that my ringing bells don’t go unheard. And so I can continue to chime till notice me again.