There are universes spinning around us and they will see how we break down. They will not know our names just like we don’t know theirs. And when they come for us falling onto our beautiful blue home, falling into our storming seas and falling heights, we will still believe that this beauty will save us and in some ways it will. In some ways it won’t.
But for today the universe around us inspires us to love, fill our hearts again and again, it cradle us tonight, carries us from one unbearable moment to anohter through the tunnels of serene silence, through the river of light.
If this all is an apology for what is to come, just like the offerings of the sad heart before it broke me once, then maybe we don’t deserve this kindness, maybe we are given, gifted, cared for a bit too much in the name of the eventual end that is waiting for us far ahead.
With my back to the my cold family name the metallic alphabets printing hard on my clothes, I stand with my feet half out of my pretty shoes – with my painted nails still hidden in the skin of another animal, my hands revolving the beautiful replica of Saturn around the plastic heart on my elaborate key chain- a stage of its own. I stand and wait for you to open your door on the floor above. I hear a faint click, a phone ring, footsteps running away from the world (why do I feel such sadness when I hear that?), a door left open (to everyone but me) I sit in the middle of my living room floor staring up, at the underside- the creeping mold of the stage where I played your lover, your nemesis. It is cruel and incomprehensible that we can still live, take calls, make jokes, eat, and still have the want to live. After hurting ourselves and the world for the sake of love, after all that, is this is it? When you find your room, your world without me which direction does your heart turn towards? Do forget from time to time that we are supposed to forget each other? When I find my loneliness becoming greater than me, when it starts spilling out of me on dinner table, when it makes me lose my mind, am I allowed to let go of you? Is this what this distance, this decision means? I hear your window open, I hear your excited voice (why do I feel color of anger filling me again?). I wonder if you have really found your new life or is this an act you have put for my benefit? Your kindness could only be in my head, as was your love. TV drowns your voice again and I thank all the accidents, all the things out of my control, everything that moves us away from each other. Otherwise, I never could.
How long should I bleed for the one who holds the knife.
I pluck another flower of kindness to appease the one who won’t even smile for me. He looks at it and tells me the tested foolproof ways to kill this useless plant that grows in me and cracks his shield.
He tells me he will love me more if I will cut his skin instead of making him look as bad as he is, if I struggle a bit to get back at him rather than struggle to know him like this.
He says “i would like us to be peas of the same pod, i would like us to be the insects with same appetite, i would like you so so much more, if you would help me rule this world that doesn’t listen to me. if you could speak the same words as i do, words dipped in careless anger rather than the ones served with pity. don’t tell me the danger of my dagger by slicing away your skin. you feel more like an enemy now. the more you bleed to make me suffer, to make me give up, the farther you get from the person i could love.”
How long should I bleed for the one who holds the knife to stop him from cutting his own heart. This will hurt him, he knows, eventually if not now. Yet he is becoming a creature of claw with a paper skin, he is growing a dream from the horrors he has only read. The unnatural pauses on his lips, the look of helplessness in his eyes makes me wonder if he even knows how to stop.
Today I realized what to call all that I have been reading for so long. A person I didn’t mean to overhear called it ‘a sense of urgency’- the desire to save this world as soon as possible.
It seems the enemies are too many. I saw many names in the list of these enemies that I silently agreed with- pollution, dictatorship, bullying, monetization of education, competing in a rigged world, oppression of lives and loves of minority, hate crimes,…
I scoffed at some: the collapse of society in the hands of socially withdrawn, collapse of economy in the hands of those who want and do less, the unfeeling and unapologetic generation that seems to love depression, women whose learning and thinking too much only breaks families,…
“this is the cause worth dying for”- I suddenly became afraid of that feeling.
As I read all the absurd causes I couldn’t agree with. As I read and became exasperated at the words of those who were convinced that they knew better even as they killed and killed and killed and got addicted to seeing blood dissolving in oceans. I realized how dangerous this feeling could be.
“this is what to means to change the world. to change the world is to walk over everything I don’t want to see” My sense of urgency hated me for thinking this. It recited every quote about silence of good men. But all I could now see was the line that I must not cross, the words I must not say, the knife that I must never hold- no matter the cause.
shadows of evening are still in my room the morning rays, the flickering light bulb, your laughter, they don’t do much.
cause this life of mirrored sunshines and smiles makes me feel nothing. there is something wrong with my heart which you might have known all along.
i toss another piece of me into the ocean. it is one other piece of me that you will never see, will never have again. you hold my hand and tell me what i have thrown away was too difficult to find in this world, that it was your most favorite thing about me.
i want to cry and apologize to you but i sit there feeling relieved now that I have one less thing to lose. there is something wrong with me to not want your kindness and your love. it is not your fault dear.
I look at you and I see myself.
I see my weakness, that is you.
I see my failure, that is you.
But if I put it like this
it may seem that you are
just another darkness in my life,
but you are not.
There is a reason that even when my mouth recites
sad stories and bitter words about you
my eyes, my heart only looks for you.
There is a kindness in you
a love in you, for me,
that surfaces, even when you try to hide it.
In your imperfections I see the imperfections of my own love, how I cannot love all of you even when I want to. I wish sometimes I was not this person that I am. Sometimes I wish you were a little less lovely, a little less lovable. Maybe then it would have been easier, been okay, to walk over this love that I cannot let go of now.
now come here, come inside and cry how much ever you want. we don’t want the neighbors to know how much worse we are doing than them. trust me dear, it does no one good if you go around with these puffed eyes and cracking voice.
you know, these days it is not wise to act out frustrations you never know who is idle enough to observe us and label us as another example of a failed generation, a disappointment, write an article on how luxury has spoiled these children, that we are just a bunch of aimless attention seeking humans who refuse to grow up, that we are weak to indulge in something so petty. they will hand you the list of people who are doing worse (i have plenty of those stuffed in drawers, just in case if you are curious to know what it says)
i know nothing is right but it will be. we will make it right but till then do not wait for kindness, do not expect understanding. if you get them be grateful, but don’t wait for someone to come and pick you up. we will make through this not because we are strong enough to face all this but because this is not the first time our lives are wrecked by these unacknowledged pains. like always we will break ourselves and grow smaller in our attempts to grow up.
The list of all the words that I use and don’t know meaning of:
friend, understanding, dream, ethics, distance, space, wait, promise, family, kindness, virtue, trust, love, love, love, love, love, love, (I was told I need to be especially obsessed with love if I want to be normal) I, me, memory (real or invented), boundary between reality and fiction…
What a poor human I am that I carry around these empty shells pretending as if I know their worth. All the flags that I carry of the countries to which I do not belong. All the people who I live with, only because I cannot live without them. What an excuse to walk on this road that will eventually to lead to a heartbreak. Every heartbreak a drop on my window and it has been monsoon for years altogether. What a sloppy way to end all things that I never wanted to begin.
I could look at his face without the need
of looking for places to hide.
I could look at him
and be assured he will look back at me
with kindness I couldn’t have.
And this assurance, this trust
was the reason that I had to hide,
had to look away.
For what would be left of me
if all the misery and complaints
I had from life
and from myself
would be removed by his love.
Everyday I buy more boxes and more trunks,
to stow away the harmless opinions and stories of mine
that have never left my mouth,
and have never known
how the cold air of this world feels like.
They are better off not knowing
how they are going to be broken and crushed
till nothing of them is left.
Let them die in the voiceless trunks.
At least a corpse of what they were
and the soul of what they lost
shall be locked in the same walls.
That’s the only kindness I am capable of delievering-
to spare them the purity of meaning
and dignity of thought
that was never put to question
and never put to shame
by this world
that to everyone does the same.