The person I think I am,
this person with dreams and purpose,
this person with heartful of love
and tears as a proof of its painful blooming,
this person with a lot say and a lot to see
with an agreeable “to-do”
and hidden “what-if-I-never” list,
this person good enough to be included in your plans,
in your friendly banter, in your group chats,
in your betrayals, in your short-lived love,
in your museums of wax, in your corrupting memory,
in your unreliable heart
– this image,
is merely an excuse I give to world,
an excuse I give to myself.
So that I can continue to exist
even when I don’t know why I must.
A new announcer has replaced the old one.
The one with the shrill voice
is too tired or too sad to continue, I guess.
This new one, she sounds more like my type.
She seems like the one who will define my types.
I am so thankful she is not the one who tells me to go back to sleep
when I am crying at 3 without knowing why.
So thankful that this deserted night, this cold concrete,
her cold instructions, her reminder to wait patiently
reminds me that this is also a day I will forget
if I do not do anything.
I am so thankful that I cannot confess my laughable weakness to her.
If I wait as she tells me to
my life will come swooping in and take me somewhere else-
a new place where I will hate everyone again
for not speaking the way I like, for loving me wrong,
for not accompanying me on the empty train stations
when I try to run away from all that I have built,
from all that I have tried to call my new beginning.
Now that we have buried all the clocks,
a day passes only when our eyes meet again,
night comes only when we say goodbye.
And when I walk away from the shade of her smile,
I think that I am forgetting something,
something that would have made me sad.
But her name, her words have grown
on whatever I once was.
So it doesn’t matter I guess
what kind of person I was
till I can continue to be the person she loves.
As I walked around the city all night,
as I put my tears on display on empty roads,
I realized nothing has changed.
I knew that I am okay if the world sees me like this.
Even if the streets gets lighted
I can continue to cry, I can be pathetic.
I was fine being pitiful in every eye but yours.
I feared how you might not like all this.
And that’s why I had to show you
what I looked like
when you are not there.
I knew I had to find your door
and wake you up from this dream
that could surely not be love.
But as you finally opened up the door
I found myself smiling again.
whether I am trying to hide myself again
or you are all I need to forget my sorrow.
My day to day wanderings
take me to places and people
who have never known a happy me.
I ask them “am i fine today?”
and they answer “yes”.
So I search the map
for a river in a distant city to cry by.
So that they continue answering ‘yes’.
So I can continue calling this hiding a “fresh start”.
i close all the doors
as if a storm in coming,
as if closed doors can protect me from something so huge,
as if hiding is a better option than fleeing.
‘i wish i had created more places to hide in my life’
i thought this as tried to burn all my best clothes
as if i will freeze to death otherwise
and nothing i wear, no new face i paint on myself
will deflect or reduce the hate in the eyes that look at me.
soon i had nothing to burn,
nothing to destroy.
only resentment against myself,
only a feeling of failure
continued to live in this body
growing each second, trying to push me out.
You walk into this room
and all eyes that have not met yours
continue to gaze at everything
that is crumbling and dying.
All eyes but mine.
I can only look at you.
My eyes like only your light.
If you would have me,
if you would want to have me,
I could learn to be happy,
I could learn to love.
In every room,
in every gaze,
in every life
you are all I want.
what do i want?
snapshots of food i can’t eat?
GIFs and videos to forward?
people to gossip about? people to gossip to?
false sense of confidence?
a filter for my mouth?
a switch to put my heart to death?
a reality check (altered to suit my expectation)?
one more fun quiz to test my mental stability?
a diary for my lies,
so that I can keep my mess together,
to continue making mess efficiently?
a makeover that suits your eyes?
a surgery that can make me look good, make me worth introducing?
someone to stop me?
someone who won’t leave?
“Is this what becomes of love?
When this star falls and loses it’s distance,
when it loses it’s light
does it become nothing more than a stone
to be kicked around?”
I knew better than to tell you
that the stars do not care
for such trivial things as our love,
that the stars are more than mere stones,
when they fall they will take us as well
and that no one up in the fading heaven
is rooting for our happy end.
So I stay silent,
never meeting your eye.
I won’t let you see
all the faults of ours
that swims only in my eye.
I don’t want to say things
that I don’t want to come true.
One of us needs to be blind to reality
for this love to continue.