It is not the night that brings in the monsters. They are just creatures, just nature- that exist outside the door that you are guarding.
They come in because this world is theirs as well. They come in because they can, just like how you can go out. This is the fair deal you don’t want to exist.
At least they do not look for you, they do not mark your picture and throw darts at it. I love them for that, for the lack of vicious premeditation, the lack of fun in their delivery of hurt.
The river of pills that flows into my window has nothing to do with them. The hurt that keeps you awake, the nails that slowly make marks on the surface of your eyes
this ruined place, this brokenness are always the gifts of the ones who look like us. This has nothing to do with the monsters. This has nothing to do with nights.
But has knowing such things ever helped. The days are just as frightful as nights. Now anything that looks like me, and everything that doesn’t – they are possible ends of me.
Now I must either run away from everything or must end up loving them all, forgiving them all – this broken temple of knowledge, this fake shallow sacred unions, these glorious wretched feelings that won’t let me remain me. How far should I run. How foolishly should I love. How do I decide.
I have spent 10 years of my life decorating my wooden coffin, giving food, giving faces, and adding height to my imaginary friends and painting forgiving smiles on my imaginary gods.
I won’t mind if someone out there decides to call me “coward” or “delusional” or “hopeless” or “sorta weird” I won’t mind if this qualifies to be called “running away from reality and life”.
Even if I ignore the words like these, even when I have found a way to survive alone I am still left with these corrosive, acidic feelings. Feelings don’t help – when all they do is speak, wail louder each day.
They remind me again and again that even a beautiful death is a death, that loneliness is still loneliness, that in spite of the ribbons and flowers and posters the smile on my face is still not as bright as the one love used to give me, even if I have now less reasons to cry.
It is not easy – this peace, this staying away from the want to be seen, to be loved, this wanting to cry over something again. It is not easy – to keep myself awake and alive when feeding myself, seeing the light only makes my fears stronger.
the rains of these kind that starts with loss and longing that won’t slow down won’t shut up these rains are so much like me so much like you indifferent and cruel i have found another song today that somehow floats above the static of this world i have found another shelter that fools me into believing that my sadness is something i can run from that we will stop belonging to each other just because we decided to
there are mornings when i have forgotten how to forget. i open my eyes only believing the dream just broken. there are mornings when i hate myself for waking up and my body for needing reality so much.
“i cannot give my heart to you”, i remind myself to say this as i gulp down a glass of chocolate milk, in case someone decides to fall in love with me today. it is unfortunate that i have to force myself to say these words, when it is so much easier to utter “yes”, especially when i have hunger only for love.
as i untangle my earphones i almost step into another puddle of my previous life. there is something odd about finding my tears again. i stand there, wanting to be of comfort to myself but the one who is still drowning, drowning for years i do not want her, i do not want to catch her disease of hope.
there are days like these, when taking a step forward is the most cruel thing to do. when being human is risky, is the first step towards defeat. when healing comes with a downtime, time that I must answer for.
on days like these i find myself losing my sight, and it is in that darkness that I find you. how lucky you are that you will stay like this stay beautiful, stay mine only here, only in my moments of madness and helplessness.
P.S. i am always amazed at how easy it is to give up on myself that to give up on you.even when you were the worst of us.
the doors, the light falling on us, the grass that grew by the roads that we walked, the flowers in our backyard, everything. you changed everything. you filled everything with so much light and drew every object around you with such intense colors that I had to love you.
but you could not change me.
my heart stirred in its sleep but never wanted to wake up and decide. i am not dragging you down for what happened. i am not saying that you were enough.
i am saying that it was your benevolence-
how you never tried to take this fabric of my skin and sew it something that would fit you,
how you remained the wide blue sky and how i remained a small disappearing brook,
how my heart felt small to even hold an essence of you, how i feared to lose you,
how i wanted to lose you for once, to be free from this fear
that is what drove us apart.
some days i wished for you to fall into me, to make me something more than i am. some days i wished i never met you, never became aware with how small i am.
I came here knowing that you would be here as well, knowing that you won’t like to see me here or anywhere. But I have been always good at not seeing the truth. So as I put on the dress I wore when I first met you I told myself – if you hate me, resent me for showing up, it is because you have not forgotten me yet; if you avoid me it is because you know you would love me again.
The distance has dulled all the pain that I felt with you and I prepare myself to dive again into the turmoil, the feelings that result from seeking you out again.
But as I enter this room this crowd that knows our history can’t decide whether to get us closer or to keep us apart. No one says your name around me, even though you are in front of me and I wonder, how long it has been since you have heard my name as well.
I have taken a step and now I have to wait for you to take the next. Would it have been easier for me if you could just utter the word ‘end’, instead of avoiding me like this. As the hour I have allowed myself to be shameless ends, as I wonder how will I ever make my way out of this world of yours, I feel the air beside me shift I feel the old me waking up in myself again. But it is not you. You have already left. I realize the end I could never imagined exists, that a ‘you’ without me exists. That I must find a new way to exist now.
I tell myself stories about why I threw away all that I had, or why everything was taken away from me. How I was too weak, will always be too weak to carry the weight of the gifts that I had. Or how I was never quite convinced that I had something to be proud of. How I was always trying to gauge how much deep my feelings ran for everything that I could only sort-of-love. I can list all similar attempts where I sought a better quantitative understanding of my specialness and used these unreliable results to decide how and when to give up. But if I had to give one consolidated story of why I was never a failure at anything, why I never succeeded, why I had nothing to show for the years I lived or for the talents that people remember me for. If I had to be concise and true I would say I never made those decisions, I was never aware of how I felt about all the things that bother me now. I drifted away from what I was, from what I treasured, the way dear friends lose touch, lose each others name, lose a happiness they could have had. Only to be reminded of this loss when it no longer matters.
The nowhere that you talk about,
are frustrated with,
the direction that we seem to always end up these days
in spite of our best intentions,
in spite of all we want to dream of-
that nowhere is not that bad place to be.
It is vague I know, I agree.
But there is a comfort in the vagueness.
Us standing here
and not knowing where to go.
Thinking, deciding, fretting over small details
of when and how
and finally waiting for another day
and another heartbreak
before we call it quits.
and maybe it was
I do not remember
and probably won’t
till you end up doing all the things that you promised you won’t,
till I end up saying all the things I never wanted to say again.
That is when we remember everything
and are faced with feelings
that should never have existed between us
but till then,
till the day we realize what we already know
can’t we just be fine with ‘vague’?
My lover, you gave me sweet words,
that I thought it can cloud my sour heart.
But as you retire into the backdrop of everyday life,
all that you promised
seems more unreal.
Another thing to wait for.
I am not good at waiting.
But I am good at thinking and preparing
for all that won’t happen.
Give me a menu of all tastes and vision
that are there in the world.
Let me decide the places we will live,
the weathers we will suffer.
Let me know of the heartache
that is not for my own sake.
Let me believe that what I want actually matters
even if it doesn’t.
The diluted versions of love
are not enough for me now.
I can only dream of grand heights.
I can only fly in a great fall.
Tell me a better lie before you leave.