Descend here in the this pit made of fire. Come and die here with me and then, only then I will believe in your love.
I know I am made of fire and you are nothing but wood. I know you will burn, I know it hurts. I can see it in your face and that’s the appeal. It shows that its meant to be.
There is only this love that I want. It need not be from you. It need not be like this. But now that we are here and since life is short, I can make do with you.
I can make do with love that looks at me as if I have lost my mind, as if I could be better than this. I wonder if you could reason out all this, I have given up long ago. I won’t be surprised if you choose yourself over this madness. In fact I am sort of counting upon it. Save yourself. Stay away. And now don’t ever talk about love so easily.
Have you found a way to leave everything that you call your ground- your ground of anger, of rusting armour of indifference, of the trauma the heartless giants planted in your heart, the compass that shows all the wrong directions and always takes you to the nearest cliff, again and again. Have you found a way to be better, to live better? I haven’t yet.
Yesterday I listened to a stranger talk for hours about how it can be done, how it will end when we want it to. It made me wonder if maybe we are not yet ready for this groundless life. Maybe that is our only issue.
All that can save us is so temporary, so transient. Yet the thing that ruins us, is ours to keep- not like the sun, but like the demon that needs our skin to live. I wonder if we just need to be needed that badly. Is that why we choose to cry than to change? Is that why we choose to hold onto the wave that is drowning us- just because it is here, because it is ours till it kills us. Among many other things I also wonder what made us like this. To be honest I am afraid to know.
Don’t call your love a help. Don’t tell me you pity me.
If even Love came to me like this, how shall I accept your feelings.
What would be left of me if I could reach you only because my sadness made me worthy of light.
I can choose such love of yours only if choose to never part with this pain that I have.
Though I wanted you beside me you are beside me because I can’t walk, because I am running into walls when you leave my hand. And I keep getting new bruises, fearing how your heart might change if I learn to smile.
Things I now remember are mostly absurdly simple and painful. Like the last time we met like this, you had a white suitcase that seemed like your new pet. It looked at peace with the snow that was getting on your nerves. When you smiled all I could think was now you cannot bear the weight of your old green bag pack, now you cannot bear the winters I am part of. All I could think was that you are growing old somewhere far without me. I didn’t know that the next thing I would have to do, after facing such sad realization, would be to smile for my sake more than your.
Things I now recognize are are only those that I don’t know how to fix anymore. Like today as I helped you out of your heavy white coat, as I made the coffee of your liking I kept staring at your small form and your frightening transparency. I looked at the scribbles of black marker at the corner of suitcase. I wondered where were you when you drew that. At what point of your journey you could no longer pretend this was a life of your choosing? Is your loneliness so overwhelming that you are not afraid of buying and ruining whites? Is your loneliness of my making? Is that why you wear it so dearly?
Another chance to get our high from the powdered dust of dreams, from digging desperately, getting closer to the voice of the demons we buried just yesterday, breaking nails and curfews to save the skins we can’t live without.
Another chance at making a home, choosing colors for our ceilings, choosing the sides we will sleep on, choosing not to be the ones we have always been. Another chance, another precious child to be broken, another angel dress to be painted red waiting for our hands, for our tasteless kiss. Choosing everything that leads us to lives that couldn’t possibly have been ours, couldn’t have been so wrong.
I know we are the only ones who can give each other chances. Chances – that we are so fond of. But do we need to call it love?
Though we have tried and tried and have run out of things that can be fixed. Do we have to call this happiness just because we have been told we must?
Do we have to ruin every word, every feeling that we have not felt yet, just because we fear we may never feel them otherwise.
She climbed the stairs never pausing for a second. I knew what a second of thought could do. How it could pull back her steps and let out her screams. I knew this is something she didn’t need.
She climbed the stairs and walked towards me. Beside me, not exactly near, steps away perhaps she stood. And that was enough for me.
Enough for me to not know of loneliness. Enough for me to not feel fear what all I could never be. She stood where I could grow if I chose to, where I could happily fall apart and she would never leave.
But I also knew that meaning of this distance which she hoped I didn’t see. Being her mirror, as I looked at her from this distance, I realized this carefully measured out space- how beautiful and perfect and safe it was. She always stood far enough so her heart wouldn’t rely on me to beat.
I regret to tell you this that the blue sky that you died for is not longer blue. It is painting its face with remains of our greed, with the colors of our wars. But it is still sort of fair. It is trying hard not to choose sides, not to become the flags that unites only those whose favorite words are ‘future’, ‘safety’,’money’, ‘greatness’, while they clutch in their hands the fate of people they don’t identify with- ‘burden’ they call them. ‘Fear’ is another favorite word of theirs. They don’t speak much of it, but it is most useful or at least that’s what I have heard from the ones we are no longer allowed to call out or even mock. I have lost every bit of my passive aggressiveness. Life has become more bearable now that my skin is not broken for making too much noise, now that we have learnt to hold each other’s tongue so that we may not lose more friends than we already have. I regret to tell you that your dreams will remains dreams and you might be one of the last to know how dreams felt in your eyes, how tomorrow used to change by effort.
she traced the light on my chest pulled out everything that stung- the swings, my feet, the shadow i decided no longer to play with.
the comparision table of veins and arteries copied into my notebook. the eraser and pencil that helped me document in those tables my lackings compared to everyone else.
a page torn, and then another, and then another. pages that learnt immortality by choosing my heart as home.
she stayed up nights trying to free me as i stuggled and begged not to empty me. she smiled and said the words she didn’t mean, words that i wanted to hear from someone, anyone.
so i slept because she couldn’t be stopped. “leave me alone” now hurt me more than her. i opened my eyes and cried for her work was done, now i was no one, now nothing was mine, not even my pain, not even her.
she dusted her cobweb skirt, placed a kiss on my forehead and told me to breathe, breathe in everything that i didn’t think i had the right to.
she told me to breathe and to never forget what suffocation felt like. it helps in becoming kind, she said.
as she wiped clean her traces from my life, i felt better, again i was full. i was full of her, of this love that won’t work out. being full of her, i refused to breathe, because i wanted to keep it that way.
today is the birthday of one another oddity of mine. on a day like this, few calendars ago i learnt how to turn my helplessness into my charm. i learnt to fill the glasses, the throats of everyone i know with something sweet, with a taste they can’t name. i learnt to become something that can’t be known or hurt. in my bedroom i sit at the foot of my bed trying to block out the presence, the weight of the other half of my body clinging, clawing, crying, dissociating. i again forget where i am. i again forget how to stop shaking. if i walk a bit more into the darkness i feel i won’t have to pretend to be the one who has a say in what happens to her. a hand slips into mine. sometimes it rests on my waist, and i force myself not to feel nauseated. love him. love her. i tell myself repeatedly. love. love. love. love till i can make up for all my lacks. my love is my penance, my apology to anyone who chooses me as their destiny.