How are you? Are you still there where we learnt to leave? Since you left I have changed my address a few times already. My heart doesn’t lie broken on the streets that only you could walk. I find it funny and interesting and sad that once I believed in “one and only love”, that once I believed that I have found what the rest of the world could not.
My hands don’t feel like my hands now, Now that my hands have reached out for love even after you. My mind doesn’t feel like my mind, now that my mind can forget any hurt caused by love, now that my mind can easily rewrite love as something else something trivial, something passing by, something non-existent, the moment I am near another light-filled human who only wants a breaking out of me.
I feel less like myself, the more I heal myself. Whatever grows out of me doesn’t want to be anything like the person you loved, the person I was so proud to be, the person who couldn’t live without wounds.
It hurts less in the body I am now in. It hurts less to know finally that I am more that enough to fill the void of my own size – the everyday lacking that I always felt I needed to do something about.
I find it funny and interesting and sad that I could learn to live only by losing you, by learning to walk away from you.
In the pool of lights, the green and yellow glitter swam in the air and you said – “This is what our life would be like. This is what our happiness would look like. This is the forever, this is the everyday love that I can offer you my love, in return for your heart. This grace is ours to keep, if you choose to revolve around me, just as I have chosen to see only you.”
As you held my hand and waited I realized all I needed was a word of affection, a promise of love, of any love I was capable of. That was all I needed to make you mine. But the easy lies, the half-meant overused words were nowhere to be found in me. I wanted only you and yet I couldn’t utter a ‘yes’. Of all the things I could do, I stupidly chose to cry. I knew my place in this world too well to admit wanting anything as lovely as you.
As you smiled and wiped my tears and picked the another happy song, I wished you would have said “If you cannot love me, better get ready for a lifetime of hating yourself” instead of saying “It is fine.”
For sunsets you missed are not even there in the hearts of those who saw it everyday.
They walked past it, shut their windows tight, and sat in their darkest caves trying to run away from what you want so deeply.”
I almost said to him that even though it hurts, it is a hurt I would like to have- to yearn for the things that never happened.
That unlike him I yearned for things that I walked over and killed. Things that I can still see and hear in my dreams, telling me, showing me all the marks of my hatred on their skin, on their hearts. I cry for them, look for them, seek forgiveness from them when I am awake. I dread them when they find me in sleep.
I almost confessed to him that being the maker of caves, a lover of sunsets, being the one who filled half the world and half the hearts with a blindness even I can’t cure, maybe I shouldn’t be his savior, maybe I shouldn’t be relied upon for answers.
the one thing i can’t be is honest. though there are many other adjectives that stare at me from their balconies at midnight as i walk and crawl through the dirt road, through the pool of lights, crying and shouting and breaking dreams in every home that i pass by. i hear them shaking their heads with disapproval and hopelessness. i look at their hazy shadows and try to hate them in equal measures but i don’t because they are so easy to forget. but this honesty, this honesty that people expect vexes me. this expectation makes me want to hide, run, run over their hearts all because it is so simple. all because the ones who ask me of this through their tears are not mere observers but are the ones struggling to stay close to me fighting the unnecessary sandstorm i create everyday. they are the ones who deserve honesty. they are the ones i don’t deserve. but my dishonesty is not only for this world. it is the only thing i can offer to myself as well. so again, i wake up in their arms with another lie ready on my lips. i hug them with with my true love and my false heart. i don’t try to make it right when they are in shambles again because there is no fancy way to put it, there is no beauty in what i do, there is no promise i would keep. there are only people who i leave. even when i can’t bear to miss one more person again.
I roll down my window hoping for the first time that I knew how to drive so that I wouldn’t have a confused witness to my impulse of moving forward by a mile and falling down by a heartbeat.
“Is everything alright?”, he asks me too often. I don’t bother to calm him down by saying ‘yes’ as I was doing an hour ago. Nothing I say can now convince him of my normality. So I let him drive and let myself collapse. I bury my face in my lap and breathe better by suffocating myself a little bit more.
He hums a song that reminds me of the love that now lives in a country I have not seen in a life that I will always guess inaccurately with a girl who has a serious case of klemptomania. Last time I called the stolen one, I was given a sorry and an address of a better therapist.
I let my ring burn my heart. I ask the driver to leave me somewhere no one can find me knowing he will not, he will take me home just like he doesn’t everyday, and he will make sure to greet me with a kind forgetfulness the next morning.
I wish I had kept more strangers like him in my life, someone who would worry about me.
my feet relentlessly insist on burning themselves for the sake of summer mood.
i wear a shirt too big for me. a wear a smile a bit too small. i wear the worry of my parents on my neck.
i feel their fear when i smile back at strangers. i pretend to be the sand that no one can hurt. i pretend to be the sea that doesn’t end. i pretend no man in this beautiful scene would hurt someone like me.
but my feet, they burn, they bleed. my feet that only wanted freedom from the moment i was born, now they make me feel like the mermaid who was not wise enough.
i feel like i am losing a part of myself every time a stranger asks for my name, every time they accidentally touch my skin to fill me with shame and sin. i pretend to be cool, to be understanding, to be blind as i feel like the monster that brings out the worst in people. as i erase my memories everyday to put faith in people whom i find hard to trust.
Come home and lie that you know how to miss me. Pass me by a thousand time in these small rooms, none which feel like the home I wanted. Once you told me that the issue is that I want a lot of things, that I want too much. That wanting doesn’t suit someone like me. I find the person I am not in everything you like, everything that makes you loose control, everything that forces you to make mistakes. When I cried the first time, you told me that you can’t help that your heart doesn’t say my name. You told me as an assurance that your heart doesn’t know love for anyone else either. I am a person like that, who hoped that you can be mine as long as you are no one else’s. I am person like that, who stayed because no one did and no one would. A person who cries everyday, only to hear your assurances again, only to hear the lies that can save my breaking love for you.
Some days I am thankful to the walls that never broke down when I did, that looms up to the heights that seem more beautiful than sad (on certain days at least).
The tiny tiles, the cemented words in me- they were supposed to be who I am, they were meant to decompose when I chose to change my ways, when I chose to change my heart. But this ‘me that I have made’ is more magnificent, more important than me now.
My mask is more than a mask. It is my life, it is my M.O., it is the replies and answers planned out for every worst case. It is a solution that works somehow. It is a city where I live helplessly not because I am helpless. It is just difficult to throw away something I thought I was me. As my nature melts and takes new forms everyday this artificial me remains as my only point of reference. My pretense is the best I can ever be.
As I say that I am ready to break for you,
I wonder what is this breaking that leaves my mouth every time
I am asked to show what my love is.
Is that all I can do?
Is it what you are to me?
A reason to destroy myself?
I wonder if you ever said that to me
would it sound as poetic as it does to me
when I am the one gets to stand above the everyday trials
and promise to prove my love on a dooms day that might never come.
It is not the distance in time or uncertainty of this promise
that would bother me .
If you ever said what I do,
it would pain me more
to see that your love for me
is a time bomb for your own life.
How do you bear this pain,
that I can’t accept even hypothetically.
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.