Speechless...

...that's how I feel each time. But you never really notice, do you? Or if you do, you never bring it up. What does "each time" mean? That's the simple part, for me at least. "Each time" is when you say something or I say something that ends up making things different than how I feel they should be.

"Each time" is when I realize that despite the passing of time I'm still facing a puzzle, a mystery game made up entirely of questions and assumptions and, rarely, small clues that seem to lead nowhere in particular. It's when after going down a path that ends in a bruise or two I can't help but wondering why am I stuck in a maze when all I've been doing is trying to find the way out. But it's not all just a game, is it now?

No, "each time" also means when you call and your voice is different. When the usual warmth and humor have gone and all that's there is business, a cold smothering feel added over what usually is a bright flickering flame. That and so much more is stuck into two simple words such as "each time".

Speechless since what I feel like saying right then would just make things worse. Speechless because my mind is stuck in place, frozen in a battle of wills, my will against itself. A part is reminiscing reasons why silence is worse than all the regrets that may come for what could be said right then. The other, the other is pleading for patience, reasoning for a calmness that is not there.

It feels as if I should say something, as if i should ask you to talk. But time never seems to be there in anything but short amounts. Life's that way with responsibilities and other pressing things to do. Most times, but not all, an explanation is not needed, I'm just there, nodding in silent understanding. It's silent since at those times I just need to look into your eyes and I understand that there is no bad intent behind what's going on, that you're just human too...something that took me long to understand. But sometimes the mystery is there, before your eyes and I don't know what to do...that's when I'm scared, that's when I say foolish things.

But maybe someday I'll be able to put things in words and actually tell it like it is, like it feels. Until then, well...I'll just admit that at times I'm a very persistent and stubborn lil' fool.

***

"Hey, dreamer boy, rise and shine," a deep voice called him off his train of thoughts. Finally opening his eyes, Reilly shook his head and looked up to see the bearded face of the small, balding bartender looking down at him. "Come on, stop dreaming and lets get you some fresh air. It'll do you good, kid," he said, patting him on the back.

With that, the barkeep turned around and made his way out of the now empty saloon. The place had been full when he came here and sat down, hoping to drawn his thoughts away and sharing his story to the barkeep, a true professional listener. He vaguely remembered being amazed of how th man managed to listen to him and three others bicker and yet manage the entire place as well as giving them the right line at the right time, prompting them to share and let it all out.

Despite having passed out Reilly felt his head as clear as daylight, not even the slightest hint of a hangover which he found very odd considering the number of glasses that were still in front of him. Then again, who was he to question a gift from the gods? Slowly, he took his jacket off the back of his chair, grimacing in expectancy of a sudden burst of pain, after which he made his way to face the crisp evening air.

As soon as he closed the door, he was called over by the burly figure of the barkeep. "Sit down kid," he said, motioning Reilly take a place alongside him on the steps., "and let me give you some advice..."

***

And that was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. At the end of a train of thought came an enlightening conversation played to the tune of crickets and the annoying buzzing of a neon sign on top of an old saloon, Noah's it said, or so I think...it was so long ago that this old story teller forgot and then again, who cares?