All the windows in this world are aligned in one line tonight. One line of sight is enough to hold all the meaning and everything there was left to see.
All the places I could have gone to, all the places that I own just by my passing through they are but one. The world is just one person, whose hands are laced through mine.
The world that was so difficult to approach had found me finally. Finally I have spoken the words of love to the one whom I feared I will never reach. How simple is this happiness of walking forward, walking towards this smile. How simple and beautiful is this feeling now that I have found it.
How sad are the hours that follow, the hours that push the world out of my view again. Yet how comforting is this love that doesn’t leave my side even when we have run out of the easiest moments.
How are you? Are you still there where we learnt to leave? Since you left I have changed my address a few times already. My heart doesn’t lie broken on the streets that only you could walk. I find it funny and interesting and sad that once I believed in “one and only love”, that once I believed that I have found what the rest of the world could not.
My hands don’t feel like my hands now, Now that my hands have reached out for love even after you. My mind doesn’t feel like my mind, now that my mind can forget any hurt caused by love, now that my mind can easily rewrite love as something else something trivial, something passing by, something non-existent, the moment I am near another light-filled human who only wants a breaking out of me.
I feel less like myself, the more I heal myself. Whatever grows out of me doesn’t want to be anything like the person you loved, the person I was so proud to be, the person who couldn’t live without wounds.
It hurts less in the body I am now in. It hurts less to know finally that I am more that enough to fill the void of my own size – the everyday lacking that I always felt I needed to do something about.
I find it funny and interesting and sad that I could learn to live only by losing you, by learning to walk away from you.
Even when I run away from you. Even when I hate you from the depth of my heart- the same depth where only you can breathe, where I can allow no one but you. Even then you sit there, in front of me, reminding me how difficult it is to destroy this love, whose truth and strength outlives each sad, tragic moment that comes our way, each moment of separation that we are capable of creating from our ugly wants. Once I couldn’t have imagined the joy and frustration of having a love like that. A love that has no end when end is all I want. A love that tells me again and again that I do not really know anything and takes away the key of choice every time from my hands. A love that will not even spare me to stay alive. What a blessing! What a curse! To have this bottomless hope.
When I have gathered enough courage the only piece of metal in me that can still cause harm are only the frustrations I have at my own cowardice. What do I have to lose today, that I couldn’t lose yesterday when I was busy resenting you. After seeing and accepting the wrong that you are, after uncovering every wound, every decaying part of me that I didn’t want to face, after deciding on an end that would still be fair and gentle to your heart, why do I only hold you tighter? Why do I make up lies that only make it easier to make up more lies, make up a world where my hate is just a delusion, where you are the only one worth saving, worth love, worth my misery. And even in that world, why does our love won’t feel like love? Why don’t you feel like mine? Why does my heart feel abandoned when I have chosen to walk into your hands even after knowing my fate.
I woke up in tears and I couldn’t go back to sleep.
As I slept, I felt things move around me, someone climbing down my window, someone flying out with unfamiliar and awkward wings. In my sleep I heard the unbearable wailing of my words that should have otherwise lying dead on my table.
I couldn’t go back to sleep. Because something was wrong. Someone was again changing me without my knowledge. Someone was again waiting for my gratitude to fill my lifeless words of thanks.
The moon was no longer a moon but an eraser waiting for me to sleep, so it can go on and erase everything that was left in this life. In the 3 hours I had slept away I had already lost memories worth 3 years so easily without even putting up a fight. Even if I didn’t know what should be here but no longer is, I somehow knew that I would always know that something is missing. I knew what that feeling will do to me. I knew how it would make me do everything that I regret having done. I knew all that because I have found myself so often at this point.
The point of forgeting – the forceful hands of God trying to pry open my hands, the painful flying away of my pain, the painful end of my love, the hideous and disgusting sight of my hands wanting something, anything to hold again at any cost.
I knew not to fall for this scheme again. So I walked upto the window, looked at all the sleeping rooms scattered in front of me, rooms where no one really slept. I looked at the concrete street below, felt its dangerous height in me, felt the distance between me and the true oblivion. I played with the dangerous power of choice before it frightened me with its truth. I heard someone laugh, before I turned back. I heard them back at their work as I found myself sleeping in the familiar bed of choices that never feel right. The only choice I want to believe I have.
Another chance to get our high from the powdered dust of dreams, from digging desperately, getting closer to the voice of the demons we buried just yesterday, breaking nails and curfews to save the skins we can’t live without.
Another chance at making a home, choosing colors for our ceilings, choosing the sides we will sleep on, choosing not to be the ones we have always been. Another chance, another precious child to be broken, another angel dress to be painted red waiting for our hands, for our tasteless kiss. Choosing everything that leads us to lives that couldn’t possibly have been ours, couldn’t have been so wrong.
I know we are the only ones who can give each other chances. Chances – that we are so fond of. But do we need to call it love?
Though we have tried and tried and have run out of things that can be fixed. Do we have to call this happiness just because we have been told we must?
Do we have to ruin every word, every feeling that we have not felt yet, just because we fear we may never feel them otherwise.
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
a blue cloudy sky over a banana plantation. the only word to be heard – rebellion. someone is crying far away. another round of bullets leave the shaking hands of the one who can’t seem to stop crying. now he must die just like me. he rests his bloody head and its murky thoughts on me. in this last afternoon of my life i drift into bouts of darkness, without fear for first time, with the company of only his confused memories. will this be my last dream – his life? even in his head my homeland and its afternoons are beautiful. he has a face that he doesn’t want to forget, he has childhood home he can always return to but he didn’t, he regrets it now. he remembers the red color that his sister stopped wearing on her lips once her heart was broken badly. how he kept it with himself, as a symbol of happiness that he can’t have only for himself. there are ports on rainy days and buildings that became sadder at night. he once painted the window that would never open to him or anyone else for that matter. he cried when another nameless woman was found lifeless on the last page corner of newspaper and the window never lighted anymore. there is a cafe filled with few bombs that didn’t go off where the only one spared was him. he doesn’t want to be spared anymore. i wonder if he thinks that he can have happiness when he ends. i wonder if i will be able to smile on a rainy day, even if i am born again.