She said “The moment I glace at the empty parking space in the sky, I wait for you to appear with the plastic wings and your boyish grin.”
The sky does that to me too. I look at the drooping branch the sky holds in its mouth, I wait for you to tear your most beautiful dress at the knees, your tiny tiara clutched in your hands, taking that unsuccessful flight again, leaving behind all the burdensome part of your being just to tell me the precious secret of your heart. Just to fall into me, to take me away, to fill me with life, to fall and bruise with me, to make me yours. As I fail to catch you again, as you pretend to die over me trying to hold in your laughter, I couldn’t help but smile. I couldn’t help but want you to be the only weight that I carry in my heart.
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.
Her floor had always been the color of the season I remember this, only when I step into the mess of her life. The spring issues lay scattered like the flowers The pink, red, yellows, and greens, women who only know youth, women who only grow younger the kind of woman she wanted to be (what a small impossible dream) and she almost is. And now that she can never change would she be happy? When/if she comes across her own lifeless eyes in the missing posters would she be glad to be one of the “sad popular”? I shatter the home of her missing goldfish in my haste efforts to pick them up and put them out of sight- the bundles of glossy paper that my eyes can’t handle. I try to put them away, wanting to throw them away now that she wouldn’t mind, now that she won’t yell at me or anyone for taking away too much of her. I want to try it. i want to try, so she has no option but to stop me. “let’s leave her in peace” tells me my moral compass and my grief. “i don’t want to show her the kind of respect that only dead deserve” shouts back my anger and my love. I drop the heaviest bag in this world on her rain soaked bed. Her last dress, her last chocolate wrapper, her last bus ticket, her last mistake, her last breath everything spilling out, everything ruining the spring that I dreamed for her along with her.
a broken end with a light (a lighter duller than me) touches me. someone says the magic words, the loathsome words that make me the old alice. i am made to leave the seat, the home, the dream, the rights that are too big for me. they leave me a tiny suitcases filled with fancy dresses made of used socks and handkerchiefs. they are cute, they are kind, they have read their fairy tales right. i have never read the right books, so i find myself unable to thank them or kiss their hands. thumblina says my new belongings in glitter i do not know what this name means or the fate that the owner of this name is meant to find but i have heard it is better than being an alice. (i liked being alice more i liked a story written for my sake.) as i walk into the new forest, towards hopefully my last story or at least a story i can make my own for once, i can’t help but think of all the laughing men, now laughing giants fixing my home to their liking. i can’t help but be a bit bitter looking at my hands that can only build for people like them.
Before knowing the alphabets of your name or mine, I learnt to make you smile. I pluck another flower that makes me sneeze every time but the silly pathetic me smiles as you smile as I crawl to you losing balance, losing something similar to heart, as I dress you up in a mountain of petals I clenched too hard hoping you would never move away from me. How you dozed off as I made myself sick with my ambition. How you were still sleeping as your mother took you in arms brushing away every piece of my care. But it is better than the days I woke up with only the traces of my feelings, my cradle of flowers without you in it.
On Sundays, I wear the purple summer dress that I once promised myself I would never wear. I paint my nails, I color my lips, and I open the windows in me. I become someone I was taught to hate, I try to break my hatred with my smile. I let myself be reigned by the greed for beautiful, sweet, shining things. I think of all the things I have tried not to want. I let myself be the delicate vulnerable woman that is easy to love, easy to idolize, easy to abuse, easy to blame, and easy to hate. I tell myself that it is not my fault, but the more I live the harder it becomes to believe it. I fall asleep on the floor where first I tasted blood, wondering why I can never give up on this dress, this dream that has given me nothing but hurt.
the doll with black buttons eyes – i can be that, if you also don’t mind being one. we can sit under the shade of broken wooden chair. we can call this air-conditioned room our world. the ring on your finger will longer fit you, these bruises will finally leave your life. we can wear dresses that carry no scent of rain. and we will stay forever as girls without love, girls without heartaches to cure.
so as the last effort to rescue me they came in, dressed in the ultimate cool lifestyle.
they handed me all the tools that i might need to break away from the ‘sad’ in me. they filled me up with clocks that told the wrong time, told me that i would get used to the thrill of it.
told me to scrape down whatever stands in my way to happiness. told me my happiness should now be keeping an eye on the better guy, the better job, better photos on social media to highlight the same, weekends in lightless room with strangers.
when i became nauseous from too much change, when i ran into the fire to save the idea i had of myself, they held me back, told me i would develop a taste for such things i just needed some help, some influence, some liquid courage, some castles of smoke, guts to throw away everything that doesn’t serve a purpose. they told me to talk like the ones who hurt me and to call it empowerment.
i looked best dressed in incoherent words. everyone assumed that i am drunk on something. everyone assumed me to be an artist for that.
any word that left my mouth was just another way to pronounce self-doubt. the only way to stay and run away at the same time.
the way i speak, “you are beautiful” and “i hate you” sounds the same. the way i speak “i want to die” sounds same as “i love you”. my name sounds same as any other name.
what is the use of having this name that no one calls. so i sign the heart of my temporary admirer with “tear”, “snow”, “goodbye”, “sleep”…. with other sad beautiful words that cause less hurt than my name.
With each day crossed out. With each dresses, each mask added to the my wardrobe. With each hand that passed into mine, with each hand that moved onto the next too easily, I realized I knew how to dance to this tune that used to frighten me once.
Another stranger, another potential lover, another sun that has already grown cold, whispers in my ears – words I do understand.
I search for a harmless smile in my bag. I hang it carefully on my face. I turn myself into a gift, into a substitute of love for this person – who is dying like me, waiting like me, for something, anything to fill the time left.