years from now i hope my living room has a space for a lovely piano. i hope my fingers would play something beautiful on it. that here i would smile and not know of the passing time. that i would learn to love my walls as much as the world that stands on the other side. as my child misses me, cries for me, tries to keep me alive when i am not, i hope she feels this music she can’t hear, i hope she sees the future i couldn’t finish living, i hope she knows that my warmth is more than my skin and my blood running under it.
In every country, in every city, on every street stands a home that could have been ours. I am a daydreamer like that As I passed the house with an always crying child, as I passed the house with the overwhelming smell of incense, as I passed the house with singing reality shows played on repeat I only thought of the life we could have there. In my mind, we fit every house, we fit every role. Even if our body was stripped of every muscles and every bone even if we put back together the wrong way, even if we our heart were to be rearranged, in my mind we would still fall in love. That is how we had molded the spirit of our love- to be stubborn (if not right or just). But now there are years when I don’t remember you, and yet there is no sadness in me that is capable of ruining me. You are gone and I am trying to grieve for something I don’t particularly miss. As I pass the houses where our stories used to be staged I realize they are again the buildings of strangers that I am supposed to keep my mind away from. My sadness selfishly keeps uttering, “I need to love someone, someone who won’t do this to me. I need to love someone, to believe in love again.” I reach home with bloody nails and bruised fingers leaving behind bricks with our names scratched out.
today’s sadness is brought upon by the increasing count of the words that i have forbidden myself to speak.
today’s sadness is brought upon by the particularly sad song that i have chosen to listen.
today’s sadness is partially due to the strangers with sweet eyes, partially due to my angels with weak hearts, and also the fact that i must love (and have loved) everything wrong without causing pain to anyone but myself.
i must write without baring myself. i must write to never let myself forget what i can’t speak.
do not write this, do not be mean, do not be ungrateful do not blame, no names, no dates, do not put anyone’s weakness on show
all such favors that i must do for the sake of my perpetrators and my protectors.
i must act like a better person, even when i am not in my fingers i am told to hold everyone’s shame and everyone’s guilt, and find my freedom in that.
today’s sadness is a breather, the rare moment i allow myself to see how messed up all this is, before i turn off the light only to stumble through life again.
i crawl into another embrace, scratch the surface of my fake love to find something true. hopes. hopes. is this what they call hope? it must be.
the coffee turns cold as my story ends. again i am wearing a skin i have stolen. the one breathing beside me has a knack for sad stories recited by happy girls, of being a knight to one he doesn’t have to save.
me, i love drowning the world in sadness (the only way i can take anyone’s breath away) i love leaving loose ends, leaving people behind- i call it the fear of being left behind. i have a list of similar innocent motivation for every mess i make, for the mess i have become.
when he leaves i throw away the coffee he never drinks. i get over my urge to be seen for what i am. i dip my fingers into another color that he might like, or at least remember.
These four walls that cuts us off from the world puts me again in that same position that I dread. My weakness that I once thought I had cast away is holding onto my fingers again. If only the world had not abandoned me here with you. I could have found some comfort in its words- “you are worth better” or “you are happier alone“, then I could avoid this hurt that has already risen in me.
As usual you look out of the window. You have always been good at ignoring my presence and my feelings. I have always envied you for being like this, for being able to stand your ground, being sure of hatred and not looking back at what didn’t work out. But not me. I believe too much in second chances- the second chances that I never got. I am again that person who is thinking up of words to say to make you stay, trying to find a promise that I have not uttered yet that will make you realize that I cannot be replaced in your heart.
But there are days that you have let me down
and days where I have not been enough for you-
the memory of which all my tears have not been able to wash away.
So I collect my belongings and myself
to get out of this painful isolation with you,
this fruitless attempt of our hopeful friends
who wish to see us happy and together again.
I no longer believe love
to be an effort of one person
to latch onto the other who wants to leave
who always has a better plan
and a better person in mind to move toward.
I no longer have the heart to love you anymore.
There is a soft tune that
moves beneath your fingers
as they move over the pages
and words and worlds
that you will never see.
All the words of hope
that I whisper
to the you
who exists within these barriers
of skin, bones and sorrow.
I fear these words will be like the music
that doesn’t stop but fades,
dissolving into time and distance.
Like that music
it will pass from me to you,
from you to nothingness.