I have a thing about ends- I cannot do it, it has to be done to me. It must happen. Things must continue till they rot and bleed. First in places where no one can see and then in places where no one can look away from. And words must be said – cruel words. They must be said by someone, but it won’t be me.
I rush up to the jar of those colorful wrong words and choose first, all the words that seem like hope but they aren’t, while purposefully leaving behind in the hand of others only those words that seem like rage, but it is not, it is more of helplessness, but I do not tell them that. So now, in my tears they see the new monsters that they are made of, the monster I can’t bear to be.
Even as they become problems that they never wanted to be, I must remain good, I must remain kind. I must remain the one that held on. I must save my illusions at any cost. I won’t give the excuse of my weakness, of my broken heart, of the fragile thread from which my existence is suspended, of how I am already clawed open and torn apart by life, or how I would rather at the end of it want someone to hate than to mourn things that died with all the good parts of me. Or how I have always loved everything a bit too much. I won’t give the excuses even I cannot believe in.
I refuse to give up with spite and with malice even because how can I ever walk towards any goodness in world again knowing the feeling of the dying pulse of a miracle under my hands. I am ready to suffer. I am ready to break every heart including mine. I am ready to paint this world with monsters and be the evil one but I refuse to do that killing.
All I could do was to wait for the stone of doubt and my rippled heart to settle.
But my surface never knows peace the veins of leaves, the claws of birds, they touch me and demand an expression and I play along. I give way to them.
I am learning giving way, giving in is what people call love. And the core of what I am, therefore, doesn’t believe in love.
The tired core of me would have probably believed in love if it was not so easy to get, a love that was never a win-win situation, that demanded a bit more hurt, that asked me to see someone outside of myself.
I find myself trapped between forgiveness and frustration.
How often have I said that I want to be your strength. How easy it was to say it when I didn’t really know you or me.
But now when your breaking and my sadness is of your making I am fumbling for better words-
words that can show my heart that aches for you and because of you,
words that don’t forget or diminish your own hurt while talking about the parts of me that are finally dying after loving you for so long,
words that show my hatred for my brittle self, for my heart that is not big enough for real pain or real forgiveness.
Now I don’t know to talk about saving you, about loving you in spite of the demon you warned me about, the part of you that is stronger than me and you, together or apart.
As I kiss you I hear the other part of you digging playgrounds in rain, erasing you furiously from your skin, coloring each bruise with paint of happiness, clawing me, scaring me, making me scared for you.
As I kiss you I want to stand with you in your nightmare I want you to have someone beside you for once. As I kiss you I want to run far away from your world and forget this love.
As I climb, my steps remembered the shoes I once had the ones that didn’t hurt so much and how hands of mine that hacked through them just to become my own person, some sort of grown-up. I climbed over the yellow soft dress and the light that it caught just to get this, this body that looks held together but is not (this body knows only how to fall apart), just to get few more shadows that ruin my beautiful wrist with their persistent passion. They claw through me, to see how I am made, how I look and speak once I break. A stranger once left me at the bottom of a black pond and called it love just so that I won’t cry and in return I called him my love just for few breaths, just for my life. I climbed over the right to mean the word “love” thereafter and the dream of knowing a heart other than mine. I breathe as if I have sinned yet I walk like I am happiness and determination in flesh. I cling to all the bitter bits of this world as if they would ultimately save me. I climb over, get over, and forget so easily, so bitterly that each feeling of mine is just a shade of resentment.
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.