Slowly I plucked each tooth of mine, I tore my tongue out and he called me beautiful.
He called me beautiful so I left my clothes roll down. I let my skin, my guards, my skeleton touch his floor. I sat there watching him build a fire out of it all. The fire was too cold for me so I didn’t smile.
He told me he only speaks the language of rough, that his heart beats and falls slower than the rest. I told him I have known many like him. I told him I didn’t mind. He seemed to mind that a bit but he also seemed to be a bit relieved.
As I sat under the the waterfall of his blue curtains, I felt thousands of eyes at my back, behind windows that couldn’t be closed. There were always windows behind my back anywhere I sat from the day I was first told that I was the type of beautiful not worth keeping and staying around.
Those eyes filled with lust, question, resentment filled with hatred, filled with violence, filled with sweet words for my ailing heart, filled with knives for soft skin, for the right time, were my burden so I knew at least this was not his fault.
I asked him what he could give, what he could make me forget. He didn’t answer and seemed a bit lost. I wondered if he also couldn’t think or speak clearly, if there were eyes on his back that he never spoke about.
There are universes spinning around us and they will see how we break down. They will not know our names just like we don’t know theirs. And when they come for us falling onto our beautiful blue home, falling into our storming seas and falling heights, we will still believe that this beauty will save us and in some ways it will. In some ways it won’t.
But for today the universe around us inspires us to love, fill our hearts again and again, it cradle us tonight, carries us from one unbearable moment to anohter through the tunnels of serene silence, through the river of light.
If this all is an apology for what is to come, just like the offerings of the sad heart before it broke me once, then maybe we don’t deserve this kindness, maybe we are given, gifted, cared for a bit too much in the name of the eventual end that is waiting for us far ahead.
She climbed the stairs never pausing for a second. I knew what a second of thought could do. How it could pull back her steps and let out her screams. I knew this is something she didn’t need.
She climbed the stairs and walked towards me. Beside me, not exactly near, steps away perhaps she stood. And that was enough for me.
Enough for me to not know of loneliness. Enough for me to not feel fear what all I could never be. She stood where I could grow if I chose to, where I could happily fall apart and she would never leave.
But I also knew that meaning of this distance which she hoped I didn’t see. Being her mirror, as I looked at her from this distance, I realized this carefully measured out space- how beautiful and perfect and safe it was. She always stood far enough so her heart wouldn’t rely on me to beat.
In her loudest, happiest voice she told me about one of her near-death loves, how she wished her skin would stop keeping her alive. She laughed at how we both always find something awfully painful or ugly in common, how we should probably never call each other just to remind each other of the spite that lives in our blood.
I moved her lackluster glass of fake green mojito by an inch towards her and looked past her at the couple who sat closest to the sky. The wind that touched them called out to me again, reminded me about my trembling legs and my heart that didn’t want to give up yesterday.
I told her about the fall – my bad decision, my backing out again at the last minute- another really bad decision. I told her someone needs to lock me up before I take any more decision as I showed her my new skinned knee and told her in detail about all parts of me that were filled with pain even now only because of that one moment in which I wanted to live more than anything.
She walked towards the the railing decorated with hearts that won’t light and found herself a seat, placing her elbow carefully away from the mess that the ones in love left behind. She waited for me to follow her as I always do.
I stood behind her and felt a fear very similar to mine swimming in her mind. I wanted to tell her, it will get better. but I couldn’t. I wanted to believe in this, in this hope for better; if not for me, at least for her. And I knew she had nothing to say now because her throat was also crowded by the words she doesn’t believe. We are painfully alike even in our search for hope, even when we are searching it for each other.
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.
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.
Drop by drop the wax fills the bucket of broken butterflies.
I am falling into another sleep, into another death that is warm, that embraces me like no lover ever has.
I feel the pain in my wings, and unlike other days I try to think that this will never pass. That I will remain like this, with a bit of pain always there in my shoulder blades, under my ribs, aching for a memory that floats above my body, above my existence.
Someone holds my hand and I let them. I was always afraid of living and dying alone. I guess there are many like me.
Years from now they will find us and probably write stories about how we loved each other even in death. As they look at our almost ruined and almost saved faces they won’t know how we died heartbroken, how we held onto each other but never dared to look at each other or ask the names we had started to hate. How our skins melted into each other only because we had nowhere else to be. That even as light broke free from our eyes we didn’t want to look like failure.