Haunted syllables (freewrite)

Sometimes, I wonder why you never come see me. Maybe it's because of my eyes, that's what I like to think at least because then, what else could I tell myself? That you don't come back because you didn't even notice me? That I hate you for everything I feel inside and no matter how unfair that is, you're still...there? Still the only thing beating inside my dead chest?
Over and over, I replay in my mind the moment you first looked at me, in passing, like a stranger, wayward and not recognizing me at all. Of course, how could you? We are technically strangers, you do not know me and hard to understand though it may seem, I do not know you. But if I do not know you, how do you make me feel this? How do you put these strange feelings in my chest, so that my heart rages against every second you're away from me?
How could that be if we're strangers? Why would you leave me here so alone, punishing me for something I don't even understand? Do you not hear me? Do you not hear my howls of loss, of longing? I need you, I call you over and over and over and you don't hear. Why not?
I want you so much to hear, to respond, even if it is to tell me you don't love me, I just need you to see me, I swear, just a glance, a nod, just let me know you know I'm here and I won't...I won't bother you. I'll stop calling, I'll just keep breathing you in. And out. Killing myself slowly on the sharp syllables of your name.

So, I just tell myself it's my eyes, that if they weren't like this, you'd come running back to me, scoop me in your arms and kiss me on each perfect eyelid. And love me, like you promised you would, in that moment when our eyes met and they smiled at someone they knew from the long ago.
But you can't do that now, what would the people think? What would a man like you, a king, no less, want with an ugly girl like me? How could you love me back? I could never be your bride, because who'd want a cross-eyed little king?
I understand, my love, I do. You ignore me because it's what's best for the country, for your people. You were always such a kind, sweet prince. So valiant and smart, which only makes my longing worse. I wish you were here, with your arms around me and that for ten minutes, you would not think of your kingdom, of your subjects, but only me. Because it's not my fault fate saw it fit to part us like this...it's not my fault the distance between us has grown into an empty void.
We could've been inseparable forever, my love, but we're not. You are in your castle and I am here, watching, waiting for you to love me.
I call you, love, I call out your name, each letter delightful on my tongue. An maybe one day you'll hear me, if I scream it loud enough.

The king sees the cross-eyed girl nearly every morning. He doesn't remember her, nor the moment he first saw her. Just a member of his audience as he spoke, another enchanted face, like so many others. He can't even recall that particular speech, if pressed, its' just he'd got so much on his mind, so many speeches given that they blend one into the other in a gray sea of forgotten memories.

It was a speech about the children, as so many of his speeches are lately. About his people and their offspring, who will so soon be marching off to their own little wars. His little cherub soldiers. In many ways, the king has it far easier than the cross-eyed girl, because where she saw the children they would never have together, he only saw the spoils of war, still a dream in his clouded mind, and so, he cannot mourn them every day, from dawn till dusk, like she does.
Each morning, the king looks out at the girl and wonders who she waits for. He's seen her by the gate so many times, she must be the sweetheart of one of his guards. He's even changed the gate order around. He cannot tolerate his soldiers fooling around while on the job. But still she waits and it puzzles him and he hates her for puzzling him, for weighing ever so slightly on his mind.
He is a busy man, he has no time to worry about cross-eyed girls. He thinks of her sometimes, as he listens to his councilors speak. Endlessly, as is their nature. And sometimes, he even wanders over to the high window to have a little peek.
But she's never there, when he looks and he always thinks she's found him, whoever that him is and for one brief second fear flashes through the king's foggy heart, because what if she's not there the next day? What if by some divine hand, he will never see her again?
And it infuriates him, much to the discomfort of his councilors, that he should be so moved by one peasant girl. Indeed, that he should care at all if he ever saw her again.
It's just that sometimes, in the wee hours of the night, he wishes he knew her name, so that he could call her to him. Not really, because what would that be? He is not the type of king who has random women brought over. He knows better and beside, what would his queen think? Not that she thinks much of him, nowadays, but still, he wouldn't do that.
But he wishes he knew it so that he could call her in his mind, he could yell her name so loud that his ears would go deaf from the inside out and he'd be stuck, suspended above a pit of waiting.

Waiting for her to call him back.

It stands to reason, in both their minds that if one calls loud enough with his voice, then the other will answer, he will turn and hug the caller and even smile maybe. And it only makes sense that if it is so in their words, it should be so in their hearts. That across the infinite space between you and me and him and her, I can call you and you can hear, if only I call loud enough.
And so, the cross-eyed girl sits alone in her bed each night, screaming the king's blessed name in her mind. The king, in turn, lies awake till dawn and cries out mutely, searching for words, for the one word that would bring her to him, somehow. And neither hears.

Today's prompt was 'cross-eyed'. Thank you @mariannewest for hosting the 5 Minute Freewrite Challenge. Check her out.

Thank you for reading,