On the broken lines of bold white, on the burning roads far away from home I knelt down in the heap of my skirt made of fairy dust and disappointments of all kinds.
I found a pretty crack with space enough to be something of its own and with a style that you’d agree with. With my fingertips already crying red I wrote you name in the best writing I could.
Your name that couldn’t fit beside mine, or the scorecards with better marks, or a business card that was not a part of scam, or with a number that could for once be reached, or the nameplate that you kept losing in the sleepy playgrounds of our eyes.
We missed you.
We missed you. in the conversations where we thought only of you and yet couldn’t speak of you. We thought of you always with an ache, always with a heart that wanted more of you while wanting to forget the little that we had.
I wrote your name and ran my fingers over them again. A kid knelt down beside me offering me a smile as he took in a pain he couldn’t understand. Today, of all days, I was not allowed to smile.
I walked away wondering if he knew you, if he now lives in your name, if he knows someone who wrote like me, who wrote words that will fit nowhere but here. Your name could be anybody else’s. You could have lived like everyone else and yet…
Now that we are an year apart. Now that everyone has been talking about new beginnings and second chances, I let myself be myself, let myself be swayed at the hope, at the thought of the ONE.
But being myself also means to be keep my heart broken. It means to leave every crowded room to find the corridors where I can be finally alone with the mistakes I am about to make.
I hold someone who could have been you but is not. I cry the same tears that once made you pity me. I jot down a name and a number and a weakness, a need where I could fit myself into.
And as I lay in bed I feel something sad and beautiful in my heart- an end that I am creating for myself. This is how love has always been for me, so I let it be and smile as I kiss another stranger who won’t be able to save me from anything.
You are gone and I try to hold the spoon like you used to. I chew my food with my left molars as you did. The ghosts that I have wronged, that I have forgotten now include half of my teeth, teeth you would have never used.
You are gone and you are happy (probably). So I memorize name and phone number of your every friend, I recall the fondness you had for them. I wear your feelings when I meet them, I wear your feelings even when they won’t fit me. I wonder if they noticed how I was spilling at some places, how I was non existent in other folds- folds that used to hold you so well.
You are gone and I am gone (or that’s what I think). I am my work, I am my songs, I am the adjectives you made for me, I am the report cards, I am the dust that settles on it, I am the afternoon TV shows, I am the language I don’t understand. I am what I am fond of. I am mostly just you.
You are gone and I fear there is no one that can stop me from growing into you.
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.
I always thought that I could be happy, really happy, forever happy, if only I could make myself love happiness.
Though I approached this strange kid, though I pretended to be good and as holy as humans can be, I had nothing to say this ever smiling child. All the standard stories I had prepared for this heavy chore of presenting myself to this world, were not for her ears.
I could never make myself fill her head with such darkness. Why should she know of the categories of suffering and where I fit, about the worth that every person has to earn. This kid looked at rainbow and reflections with marvel, prayed before every meal, believed in every story told. There was nothing I could say to her. I could not make her see me, befriend me, understand me without changing her into me.
Only my love for this happiness stands in my way of the heaven I have dreamt in futile.
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.
Every night as you sleep, I fold myself up into someone I used to be. I try to fit into the space beside you where no longer fit.
But your warmth now only brings me tears. I wish it didn’t. Even though I stopped wanting you, I don’t think I stopped loving you. I wish I didn’t. I know I will give you up someday but till then I wanted to gift you few more days- few more days of ignorance. You will probably sleep through them not knowing how much I must have loved you to stay beside, you even when you were not watching, withstanding my pain as long as possible.
The night grows deeper, your sleep lasts longer, my cries become louder, but there is no one for me, no one to care, if I cry.
Please wake up and see my tears before I can hide them. Put me to sleep, please love me back, love me again, before I give up on you.
the broken stories that you lived on were never actually broken. these stories are not pieces of a whole, but a whole that is meant to look like a piece. they are made so. they are crafted to be faulty, to look like us, to look like the things we want to be but aren’t. so that it can fit into our heart, so that we can nibble on it with our tiny dry mouth that has given up on food, love, and life.
So much of
what I have and what I like
a statement of who I am,
that now before liking anything new
I am looking only at my own collage
and where it fit in there.
There is too little space
and too many eyes.
I am too small to take in all this
and give home to all that I love.
There are better ways to exist
and better ways to love.
But not many ways to embrace life
while keeping myself and my image intact.
The silence, whose reasons evades your understanding,
doesn’t fit in the the 200 page guide to this world you have made,
that irritates you,
also lets you paint me worse that what I am,
lets you add footnotes to my words.