And if we are to delete, to remove, to erase and whiten the papers that are not a part of our hearts anymore, then hand me the forms you want burned, the words you wish you never heard, and I’ll help you with your share of forgetting, just like how you helped me memorize my own name once.
If we are to walk through the burning towns, that we created with our own hands, which we named after stars, to find something that is not poisoned by our time together, then I’ll do the walking for you.
In a room filled with light I imagine myself breaking apart, it will happen for sure, but it doesn’t pain me yet. But I fear the tears that will find your eyes, the marks of flowing rivers, the civilization of sorrow settling and flourishing on your face, if you were to fall in love with something that is already lost.
I fear your loving nature. I fear your heart to work for the impossible. I fear you might see our past and mistake it for our future. If you try to protect me even in our end, I fear I will be left with no way out.
Their torn ends, their disappearing body, the plastic wings at the corner of the shallow pockets (that were actually good for nothing) now look like a teardrop determined to stand till the very end. Isn’t it all so ridiculous, laughable, and sad? The blue that never dies – doesn’t it fill you with anger at the unfair paces each component of this world moves? The half alive part of everything cursing the other broken half for taking them down as well. Isn’t it a bit too noisy here to miss or accept anything?
(Or am I the only one?)
All the treasures are now at the pawn shops, and the bottom shelves of the rooms and houses, countries, and identities abandoned, in the words that belong to pseudo names and ‘anonymous’, in the trash cans of people who swear never to love you again. They lie deleted and dumped under the bridges whose shadow rubs your back as you try to vomit out the leftover love eating your heart.
While everything to be thrown away is always there in the cupboard, in the handbags, on the sofa, in your phone talking up extra space, waiting for you to forget them, get fed up of them, waiting for you to throw them away, so that they can haunt you, so they can be your another true love. Till they are your sole teardrop when it all ends.
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.