All my roads and plans are lined up
side to side.
And on every path I take
I see myself giving up sooner or later
and the moment I give up
I become the same person I was
before the I took these steps.
Being the same person I am
used to comfort me once.
when all I hear around me is
how I need help,
how I leave a bitter taste in every kiss,
how I have a tendency to be painfully unrealistic,
how my efforts make other uncomfortable.
Now I cannot remain the same
when they have shown me how wrong I am.
But my trying hard to change
makes me hate myself that much more.
I ask myself “what do I really want?”
and I feel pathetic with the only answer that I hear
“I am ready to want anything and be anything,
that can make someone truly love me.”
If only yearning
was the correct word
for what I feel for you now.
There is a voice in me
that has taken over my throat
and it speaks what I never wanted to say.
It admits all weakness that you never knew I had.
What is the use of confessing
what no one even suspected?
I ask myself that
even as I continue to speak,
even if you are not here to listen.
Maybe your absence
has given me the courage
to do the right thing.
Now that you are gone,
now that you have changed
I have no reason to hide where I hid.
There is no love keeping me away from
the life that I always wanted,
that I could always have.
But the reason
of this freedom
also leaves me paralyzed.
Though there are many failures in my life
that I made you reason for,
now when I can do better without you, I see myself giving up.
How unfair it is to you, if I give up now.
How unfair it is to me, if I cant even taste the only fruits
whose sweetness you have not taken away.
Love was not that hard
and I do not want to add another line
to the poems and essays who blame love for everything.
That would be another lie, another failure for me,
if even when I am losing I seek someone
who is ready to sink with me.
We could never see each other properly
because we busy working hard,
trying day and night
to become something the other wants.
Or at least something that can’t be rejected on face
or fall short of this friendship
that we could never be sure of.
We worked equally hard
to ignore when we saw a crack in each other’s mask,
to ignore the words spoken out of character.
Somewhere we were too hollow, too materialistic, too demanding.
And we knew it was wrong.
We knew we had no right to demand.
We knew we were cruel and we knew we would be forgiven.
If not now, then someday.
Is it possible to love someone in spite of being so wrong?
Is it possible to use such pure words for a transaction gone wrong?
I have a weakness for sad eyes,
for people who stand at the miserable end
of disproportionate affections,
for hands that try too hard
and mouths that ask too little,
for the continuous hope that fills inflatable heart.
And I am suffering because I am becoming
all that I love.
You say, “There are two of me and two of you
and if we are trying to be precise in the count of us
I think there are many me and many you.”
Does it even matter, to think about
all the people we were just for a day?
To complain about a love that didn’t fade
but changed from one thing to another.
To complain that it changed
even when it found a way to survive somehow.
When it is trying so hard,
when it has stayed so long
do you really want to sit here
and count the ways
in which it is not what you thought it would be,
that it is somehow lacking
and breaking your heart.
I cannot hear you count again
all future you saw in me,
to be reminded
of all the things I hoped from you.
I cannot stand here and look through the real us
that we have, that has sustained
all our disappointment,
that is better than what we want.
Your severe gaze
resounds and echoes
the meanness only humans have.
But your hands melt at anything you touch
so that nothing,
is disturbed by your presence
in this world.
How did you learn
make that face
that kept people at distance
and kept them on their toes.
How hard was it
roam in this world (that you loved too much)
knowing everything would hurt you,
and knowing the defeat at the face of the war
that you never wanted
and you can never win.
How hard is it,
to burn the flowers
born out of your soul
only so people would
avoid the impending disaster
that you are not.
The sunrise that I always wanted to see
slipped out of my hand and eyes once again.
Though my heart feared falling asleep,
my eyes could not longer bear to stay awake.
And I found myself in the only place
where I can’t fool myself by smiling hard.
As my mind deserted me here, as it always does,
it only left me with broken words of farewell:
“why me…it’s hard…and it keeps getting hard…i want to give up”
“You can’t”, you whispered from my heart.
you posed for,
stayed faithful to you,
in keeping your grief
only to be spinkled in your art,
that glamorized the pain,
which was in fact hard to bear
and harder to name.
-In fond memory of Kim Jong-Hyun
(your absence will be deeply felt, may our love and care follow you to whichever world your soul is in)