This is just a short snippet that I came up with after watching Revolutionary Road. I don't know if anyone has noticed but whenever Thomas Newman does the soundtrack for a movie, it always seems to be emotional, tender and sometimes sad (examples Green Mile, Shawshank Redemption, Wall-E, American Beauty, Meet Joe Black) I've made it a personal mission to watch all the movies that he's written music for, I've not been disappointed yet. Anyway, hope you enjoy the piece, I'd love a comment or review. Andas always I do not own any of the characters or the movie.
The world is a small place, is what she thinks. It's an illusion, a complete and utter lie. The truth of it is there are no grand seas, no large land masses to be seen nor discovered. The world consisted of four walls and nothing more. She looked about the house, memorizing her prison, knowing that soon she would be free one way or another.
The world is a small place, there are no true loves, there are no soul mates. He stares at the woman that has kept his world so very very small. Her dark brown hair was once luminous and once upon a time he thought the world of her. He remembered the way his fingers would curl at the soft hairs just at the nape of her neck while they made love. He had delighted in her warm skin, her easy laugh, even her tears that were often over nothing. Then he saw her, the woman that would show him the bars he had avoided for so long. His world was shrunk into tears, burbling, frothing tears. Tears for himself, tears for his wife, tears for the woman who had made his prison and turned him away, keys gripped in merciless fingers.
The world is a small place. He runs but he can never get where he needs to go. His feet carry him many places, never the right place. He wants to be at her side, to run so fast and so far that heaven is beneath his feet and she just before them. His legs ache and his lungs burn. He wants to outrun every decision that made his world so much smaller. He wants to go back, to see her smile, to feel her lips upon his own. He wants to live in Paris, buy a French dictionary, to pour over the new words after they've made love in their new flat. He wants to run back to that poor sonovabitch and shake him. He wants to tell him that his destination will be horrible and that he will live to regret it. He knows that he will never be that fast, that the world will hold him still, that his lungs will always burn and his legs always ache for a place that is forever beyond him.