And when we had run out of pleasant things to talk about I asked him things he didn’t ask me, things he didn’t want to be asked. But I was bored of the all this peace, all the ants that crawled into him, into me maintaining separate lines, to reach the places in us we both didn’t want the other to see. I guess I wanted him to be different, I had more than enough people who wanted to love me without knowing me. I guess I wanted to be difficult. For once I didn’t want to be the easy conversation, the easy way out of pain.
I asked him when the waves of life try to reach his foot, what does he do? Who does he think of? Whom does he drown in his mind every time, every moment to avoid knowing what he really feels? Does he almost hold that hand, does he almost save the one who will kill him first, who has always killed him without hesitating?
He seems to be the type who would do stupid tings on repeat at least thirty times before giving up on the one whose love didn’t surface even after the thirty wounds, or bloody hands, or hundred considerations. He looks so breakable and so happy I wonder if in the hollows of his heart where his anger and disappointments hides, are there flower beds of daisies, and a heart that can never be broken?
Is this how I look- like him, plagued and haunted by beautiful dead thing? Is that why he smiles at me without saying a word? Is that why I can’t smile back?
a blue cloudy sky over a banana plantation. the only word to be heard – rebellion. someone is crying far away. another round of bullets leave the shaking hands of the one who can’t seem to stop crying. now he must die just like me. he rests his bloody head and its murky thoughts on me. in this last afternoon of my life i drift into bouts of darkness, without fear for first time, with the company of only his confused memories. will this be my last dream – his life? even in his head my homeland and its afternoons are beautiful. he has a face that he doesn’t want to forget, he has childhood home he can always return to but he didn’t, he regrets it now. he remembers the red color that his sister stopped wearing on her lips once her heart was broken badly. how he kept it with himself, as a symbol of happiness that he can’t have only for himself. there are ports on rainy days and buildings that became sadder at night. he once painted the window that would never open to him or anyone else for that matter. he cried when another nameless woman was found lifeless on the last page corner of newspaper and the window never lighted anymore. there is a cafe filled with few bombs that didn’t go off where the only one spared was him. he doesn’t want to be spared anymore. i wonder if he thinks that he can have happiness when he ends. i wonder if i will be able to smile on a rainy day, even if i am born again.
please don’t ask me how my friend is doing. we broke up. we broke up the most decent way friends can break up. without deceit, without betrayal, without cruel words or bloody knife on our backs, without stories to hurt each other with, without attempts to patch up things, without deleting each other’s number that we never bothered to memorize. i do not remember her till someone says her name and when the sound of her name finds me through a stranger’s lips, i do not feel bitterness. i not miss her. a part of my heart is glad that life didn’t turn her my enemy but a part of me wonders how she turned out to be nothing in my life. when i see facebook notifications with her name, when i get a reminder of her birthday, when she calls me up once in a blue moon to ask a favor for “her friend” without bothering to ask how i have been, what is it that am i supposed to feel? i think it should hurt in some way. i am waiting for it to hurt. i am waiting to realize the meaning of this loss. i am waiting for the day I miss her. i want to miss her so much.