We as a society, have wronged our men. So much so that only anger and sex remain the two acceptable emotional expressions for them. We're turning boys to beasts... when we tell them and teach... it's less manly to blush and feel shy, it's cowardice to cry. We're wounding them on a deep deep level when at an early age we expect them to be all grown up and responsible. I've seen men with a gnawing emptiness within, but refusing to acknowledge, because of pride and conditioning. They fill that void, with alcohol and smoke... Meaningless small talk and same old political discussions and joke. They embrace lust over love. Because come on... love evokes emotions... Emotions that demand to be felt. And feelings aren't for the strong one As strong as our silently vulnerable men.
The sunlight hadn't hit my skin for months, for years maybe. My face must have been a ghostly sight, as she shuffled onto the bed next to me. And then she smiled.
I had almost forgotten what that was like, and smiled weakly in return.
"What is your name?" "Greta." "Hallo. I am Stefan."
"They told me I would not be allowed to go outside. Is that what they did to you too?" I nodded.
We sat in silence for a few minutes.
"What is it like outside, Greta?" "What do you mean?" "What is the sun like? What does it feel like to watch the snow fall on your face?"
Greta sighed. "The sun shines rarely, but when it does.. there are beautiful shadows on the street and the children play football and there is laughter." Her eyes started to well up.
"How do you fall asleep at night, Stefan?" "When I first came here, I would cry myself to sleep."
"And now?" Even though there was nobody to overhear us, we were still talking in whispers. "Now, I simply close my eyes."
Another moment of silence as we heard the wind gusts outside the room.
"You remind me of someone, Greta." "Go on."
"We planned to go to university together. But of course, I played football at every opportunity while she stayed with her books. I would come back from my matches and describe to her what it was like outside. The sun and the snow, the trees and the grass. And we would just clasp our fingers together and laugh."
"Where is she now, Stefan?" "She's dead. The Gestapo burnt down her house. Her only fault was that her hair was brown and she wore the star of David."
"And what was her name, Stefan? "Reeza."
"My father was gunned down in front of me. I was eleven. Sometimes I can still hear his scream as the blood left his body."
"What do you see when you close your eyes, Greta?" "Nightmares." It was one word, but it was enough.
We had seen enough death, me and Greta. So we simply sat there, and waited for the day when we would walk under a blue sky.
Outside, the snow got heavier. The guns got louder.
First of all I like to listen stories be it any kind. That's why I like to welcome new people in life, to talk to new people and listen to what they have to say in real life and sometimes that bring me closer to the person. on social media too, if you're known to me there are less chances that I'll talk to you and tell my story but I'll reply new people and listen their story bcz I think new is constant. For some people it may seem offensive but that's what I am, I like new people, new stories, new experiences but if you're my old people and you have some new and exciting story, you're always welcome Post #16 #MeSeriesbyK . . 24 February, 2019 Insta link in bio