there. see there. that is the soft tree made of sheep from my dreams that i told you about. the one from which blood drips the moment i find the warm back of sleep.
there beside it is the ink i never used. the words i couldn’t bring myself to say. it is a cloud now. it is now rain or rather a promise of rain. so it is safe. and beautiful. it is a reliable source for thirst. it will stay there for an eternity. it will only grow more. it will probably be the measure of my life.
it will be there always overlooking this faithless temple, these buildings filled with hollow books, this smoke that leaves my body as i burn again. overlooking this farm blessed by the hands of time, where all the food i couldn’t stomach, everything of this world that i couldn’t accept grows back again from the soil for me to see.
sit here beside me i will show you the world that i am doomed to see, since you want to know me. see there, all that was there in me before i created new doors in this world for you. all this will remain with me when you are gone. and you will be gone you just don’t know it yet.
“warm” this word has become cold sitting at the base of my throat my throat burns and my everything else? my everything else -my pretty flesh and my ugly insides- who want me to be there and at the same want me gone. i guess they want me to change. this is my new low where my organs are my imaginary friends the only ones Ican talk to, the only ones who need me, the only ones I can disappoint, my new friends who are learning the weariness of living for me. I ask around for a lover who has a love for knives and tolerance for madness of all kinds. I hear a hundred thousand sighs in me when the new replacement of romance appears, asks me my name and digs his sharp canine teeth on the last bits of my happiness as a hello. The hundred folded cranes look more like ravens and the one who promises me an end is now my only hope. Now things are easy now that I can’t hear myself breaking now that I have this strange loud laugh to hide behind, this person stranger than me, taking up the blame of everything I have done, helping me hide from everything that I have killed in my life.
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.
Your smile filling my heart with the sweetness that I hate. The crystals of sugar, your gentle words cover everything in the world, like a world lost in a blizzard all that kept me on my feet vanishes. I breathe easier because you are here.
What does a beautiful day day look like?
There are no beautiful days dear. There are just days that we were happy, the days I will look back with tears in my heart, with these weak hands that could never hold onto you. Make me a little more happier love, give me one more reason to be sad when you are gone.
Sit here and cry your eyes out. I know you don’t want to look weak, that you don’t want my strength to be the only things that keeps you standing. But if only you would cry, if only you would let your weakness show, I could find in myself the courage to let you see my tears as well.
This love of mine, it is not much I know. It cannot do anything. It cannot stop you from closing your eyes on me. It cannot do anything but suffer thinking of the day you heart will forget to beat. It terrifies me, to think you are already half gone, that I will get to see the years that you won’t.
I want to tell you that I love you. I want to hear back the same words, I guess. But these words, they refuse to come out of me. I only want to remember the moments when you said you hated me. I want to believe that even in this pain your heart will be lighter by leaving me behind.
the lights rush past us the river drowns our image this air that i can’t breathe this life you can’t live your hand that i can’t leave all make me cry how did i turn out to be this pitiful?
The tree looked at his friend through the net of blooming flowers at his forlorn form, at the new desert on his skin. Recalling his own autumn that is gone and will come again and wondered what is this friendship, that makes them smile at each other even when the same season decorates one with melting flowers of life and robs other of all the colors it had.