i remember your hands and their warmth like i remember the versions of me that were easier to live with (or so i think). the colors, their unnatural brightness, the scent of acetone always lingering on the tips of your fingertips, always hiding a sad rainbow (just my type). always a star that you forgot to rub and break, shined on your skin. under my lips, they shined brighter than my world. i swam to them as they stood in a world of darkness in the shapes of you and me. it is so odd that in my constantly breaking and building and growing brain and its images and meaning- everything about you meant love. i loved your flower hairpins and fake bullets and the magazines of the the people you would rather be and the window you glanced out of when didn’t want to look at me and your back against mine. it is odd that i could love you so even when i didn’t know why?
the wafer breaks and crumbles my teeth find a red muscle to kill again my mouth bleeds but no iron strikes my taste so i wait for it i wait for my imagined pain to become real
i look at my hands my unsightly weak hands they are portals to my past self how they weighed its emptiness even when they held you how i knew that you won’t last, we won’t last and i hated myself for knowing it
i wonder if my skin, my lips gave you a premonition similar to that did you know that we would end up sharing every hurt and that it would never stop that the we would continue to run even when the dream ends every cut mine, every drop of red yours everything painful – only ours
I let your hand become my crutch. I let your feelings for me become a means of my own validation. I let “love” slip from my mind. Being the center of your tiny universe has ruined me, has undone my heart. You are too close, too close to be seen or to be cared for. Each morning your face reminds me how you are become one step closer to achieving invisibility in my eyes. “i cannot imagine not being your everything” is not the same as “i love you”. I wonder if you know that. I wonder if you know that this difference of what I feel and what I should is killing anything humane left in me.
I close your heart. I stitch you back in a same haphazard way I do almost everything in life. The same way I knocked down every clumsy fragile landmark that could have actually helped me at the end.
From your mouth I have come to know that my hopes are tied to the throats of my saviors. That you are disgusted as you see me sitting on top of sleepless nights as I help myself with another serving of self-pity that I won’t be able to digest. That I laugh a little too long at the every joke that the world plays on repeat, all the while the cruel thread that I am I cut the skin, I cut the voice, I cut the air.
“this what i am, change me in an easy way, see this is how i am hurting, why won’t you look at me when you said you wanted was the real me”
I say as I try to crawl back into the hide of your love.
“i will stitch you back, if i have hurt you. if you want to hear goodbye, i will say it a thousand times. please, please stop crying. please for once hesitate before you ask for the door out. ask for once if it was easy to take in your sorrows, your demons, your cold shoulder. ask for once how i have fared, how i have come this far, how am i letting you go, letting you be, after loving you so badly. “
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.
so the saint i read about walked this land, looked at this river, looked at this sky, and stood where I stand.
in the cases of glass there are letters, there are feelings i cannot understand. they say he made this place with love here his everything ends, where his nothing began.
but the glass turned into mirrors his writing became face of mine. i was pricked by the bitterness that were not supposed to be in his words.
how can he say the things we say? how can his cruelty be pardoned for his principle? why can i not call him hero like i used to, like everyone still does? why his truth makes me shrink away from every other truth? why does his life disappoint me so much?
i came here seeking nothing but i left losing a lot and doubting a lot. on my way back i left the what he once gave me and finally picked up what i should have.
I can help you count everything you have. These objects have no meaning to me but I know something about life even if I don’t know everything. I know that your hands will stop shaking only if they keep counting, only when you have confirmed that you have not become poorer that you were a minute ago. I know that you don’t enjoy being like this, even though people say you are weird on purpose. I know that you have stars on your ceiling, only because the ones in the sky have abandoned you too many times.
So I will not tell you how to live your life. I will not force the disease of my heart into yours, in the name of cure. Build walls all you want, but keep me inside them with you.
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.