Left on the shelf.....

"It always seems the same. I just sit here. Waiting for him.
I long to look upon his face; to feel wanted, to feel needed. Day after day I wait for him.
I feel so close, but yet so far, touching from a distance across a space that may as well be thousands of miles, rather than a mere moment away.

Noise fills the room. It's the alarm again, raising him from his slumber, startling him awake. As he does everyday he reaches over me, to turn it off. Lightly his hand passes over me, touching me through the covers and I tingle, hoping today will be different to other days; but it isn't. The same as every morning, I am ignored as he swings out of bed and gets ready for work.

It never used to be like this. Before in the old days, when he was first introduced to me, we used to spend quality time in the morning -a few minutes together. He used to hold me in his arms and we would learn together, talk together and spend time that would start the day the right way. Those moments however, just got less and less and now -nothing. Barely a passing glance. So, as usual, I sit here, waiting for his return.

Why can't he realise? Why can't he see how much I have to offer him, how much of what he is searching for is in me, deep inside me. I want to open up for him, to show him, to give him the answers to what he is looking for, for what he needs. It is all in me, waiting to be unlocked. If only I could make him see.

Later, much later he comes back. I am still here, not that he's noticed. I long for the days when we were together, not just in the mornings but like now and when he comes back. He lies there on the bed, looking so weary, so desolate. I can help. Why can't he realise that? He just lies there, sighing, flicking through a magazine? Why does he look at that when he could look at me?

I sit here by the phone. He puts so much more importance on that than he ever does on me, waiting for it to ring, or staying on the Internet for hours. Why can't he work out that they can never give him the solutions -that they will never give him what he needs, what I can give? I wish someone would phone to tell him just to look down, to see me here; to tell him to open me up, to explore me, to search through my very core and see how much I have to offer, if he would only give me a chance.

I feel burning again, as I do so often these days. He roughly places a cup of coffee down on me and I feel pain through the cover, not just from the hot drink, but through the indignity of it all -that this is all I have come to. All he sees me is a glorified drinks coaster, nothing more. I lie here, the answers to his life, the clues to help him figure it all out, to be right with the world and at peace with himself, and all he can do is misuse me; treat me so badly.

And so I sit here....... on the table.....
Unused.

Unread.