The memories I burnt away
have turned into spirits, into thoughts
that hold me back from naming and keeping this happiness
that sits at my doorstep, waiting for my love.
And though the shadows of my past are tied to my legs,
though they rattle on empty roads
and never let the the dust of my life settle.
But ‘it is not so bad’ is also a sentence
that I have learnt to say with ease
and I sometimes even mean those words as they leave my mouth.
For there is a doorstep where a heart like yours
waits for me to heal, your wait makes the plant of trust
grow in my heart again.
Every morning I find myself, my lips
a bit closer to the the words
that only you deserve to hear.
Tag Archives: heal
The memories I burnt away
Everyday I dislike my love
for you a little bit more.
All this talk about convenience,
about being of use to each other
should not be called love.
If I love you because you understand me
then it is not you who I love
but anyone who can understands me.
“i am comfortable with you” “you make me feel special”
“you can heal me” “i like spending time with you”
“you listen to me” “you treat me well”
“you are beautiful” (how you look pleases my eyes and my heart)
My liking you
seems more about me than about you.
I am disappointed by how I love only for myself.
Why aren’t you?
I jokingly said that I would hate it
to be someone else-
someone who would have to suffer me.
But before my face realizes what my heart meant,
where it becomes apparent in my eyes
that I am nowhere near recovery,
before I panic at being taken seriously,
someone cuts me off
with proofs supporting my observation,
with a list of my faults I may have missed,
with an funny anecdote about
about the time I was too broken to think straight.
I wish I had not broken into laughter when I put myself down.
I wish ‘laughing it away’ was a trick that worked in my life.
I was never mistaken that ‘tricks’
changes reality, builds back and heals
all that is in pieces and all that is in pain.
It’s just a way to turn blind to what I cannot change.
But walking blind is worse than I had thought.
I keep colliding with harmless words, bruise myself,
and recoil back in the fear of what I may find
if I took a step forward.
Neither in the blue of the sky
or in the blue of the sea,
I could find a place
for my blue heart to be.
For my love to stay alive
inspite of what it suffers,
in spite of what it sees.
And I wait till this wait
outlives my frustation
or I can stop looking at love
as my only hope to heal.
I could probably have called it a blue morning
waiting through each hour for the day to gift it back its colors.
Or a white one where our eyes and the air are filled with
a whiteness that is never stained,
for it leaves as soon as it comes,
for it never comes in touch with the world,
just moves around it.
Is that the way we should have lived our life?
If we existed together, moving around each other,
maybe we wouldn’t have to look at each others brokeness like this.
You tell me it is a dirty gray morning that we are never going to forget.
And I almost curse myself
for not getting that right color on my lips before you did.
But I stop myself by reminding
that goodbyes like these should not be filled with the same mistakes
as the ones that filled our time together.
We wait for the beams of light and for the screech of tyres on road,
that takes you away, masking your last words to me
in the jarring sound of honks.
I make my way back to the gray life
that was always waiting for me.
If you looked back at me through that moving car,
through your healing heart,
when we are far enough to be fine,
would you see me as the defeated person I always was?
It would have been a beautiful breaking,
if only I could break once and for all.
If time and love didn’t heal me,
if I was not patched up every night.
If only I could forget where it used to pain.
. When the pain hits my face
. (those hands used to the have the softest touch)
. my skin would have broken up in the ugliest ways,
. if the same hands wouldn’t have rushed
. to cradle the crying me
. without losing a second.
. The pain was gone as soon as it came.
. This skin has a way of healing
. that seems to me as
. an unfaithfulness,
. a betrayal.
. As if, even my body
. didn’t want to leave any evidence
. that could justify my tears and my mistrust.
. I have again invited the pain, the consequence
. of being “broken too many times”.
. The word “broken”
. seems like a shiny ornament
. that is meant to distract my eyes,
. my eyes
. that are anyway not capable
. of seeing things for what they are.
. I no longer trust my mind
. that doesn’t know
. the reason for the anger (that I awakened in others),
. the disappointments
. written in neon lights on the darkening faces,
. that doesn’t have any account of how I ended up becoming
. a person
. this bad, this wrong, this fragile, this cruel.