Eckleburg's Eyes

Maybe I have misplaced my dreams.

I, too, am clinging onto a past that will not repeat itself. I, too, remember the precise moment we first looked each other in the eyes and knew. I had reveled in the frivolousness for as long as I could, but the dance always ends. The party always wanes. I am picking up the dirty vodka glasses and staring out my window. Across the water.

The light is still there, it is still beckoning to me.

It hurts me to know the night has ended, but promises of tomorrow dulls the pain. At least I am not deluded in the placement of devotion.

And maybe this is where I have gone wrong. I am hosting these grand, majestic galas every night. Throngs of people come, in their fancy cars and glittering dresses and shrill giggles. He comes too, his eyes lock on mine and I know they are promising a night of laughter and warmth. They are promising to make up for the other nights.

Those nights.

Those nights when I would beg at his door for him to come, and he would slam the door in my face. Those nights when he would say, "I'd love to spend the night with you, but there are a million things I'd rather do." Those nights, when, even though he would begrudgingly accept my invitation, he would yell at me and tug on my arms to make me dance faster.

We all know how this story was supposed to end.

There is a part of me that looks at my reflection and wonder when I will stop keeping up this charade. When I will have found what I am looking for.

I want him to show up uninvited, to offer me his hand sincerely, to hold me in his arms and tell me that I am the apple of his eyes. That there is no one else and nothing else that matters more to him, definitely not the girl who lives with him, the girl he calls his wife, his life, his future.

It is selfish of me. She is much more prestigious than I could ever be. Her words and her allure beckons thousands of people every year to pay her tribute, while I, in my loneliness, cannot even win over the boy who has sworn he loves me. I am throwing these parties, I am grasping at straws, but the night always ends, and he retreats to her shadows again.

And I cannot wait anymore. It will destroy me. It has destroyed greater people, people who have achieved much more wealth and honor than I ever have. These nights will one day consume me whole and spit out my bones in contempt. And the red ribbon will flutter, and the breath will slowly escape from my lungs, and the sounds of the music will fade.

I will be underwater, in the pool, with my eyes wide open, basking in the lulling silence.

We all know how this story ends.