as he writes his love on my lips, i write his name on his cheeks again and again. trying to not get it wrong. trying to believe that he is not the one who leaves, not the one who left. trying to believe that the pain in my heart and the love on my mind are there for his taking, if he wants, that his feelings can be an anchor to mine.
the one thing i can’t be is honest. though there are many other adjectives that stare at me from their balconies at midnight as i walk and crawl through the dirt road, through the pool of lights, crying and shouting and breaking dreams in every home that i pass by. i hear them shaking their heads with disapproval and hopelessness. i look at their hazy shadows and try to hate them in equal measures but i don’t because they are so easy to forget. but this honesty, this honesty that people expect vexes me. this expectation makes me want to hide, run, run over their hearts all because it is so simple. all because the ones who ask me of this through their tears are not mere observers but are the ones struggling to stay close to me fighting the unnecessary sandstorm i create everyday. they are the ones who deserve honesty. they are the ones i don’t deserve. but my dishonesty is not only for this world. it is the only thing i can offer to myself as well. so again, i wake up in their arms with another lie ready on my lips. i hug them with with my true love and my false heart. i don’t try to make it right when they are in shambles again because there is no fancy way to put it, there is no beauty in what i do, there is no promise i would keep. there are only people who i leave. even when i can’t bear to miss one more person again.
I wanted to tell him thatI went back to the fountain the one made of moon marble in the neighborhood made of coal, andI fished for his wishes, the forgotten cold coins,
that once I believedI could find him in the things he left behind and I was wrong. I could only see the lingering complains and the eventual hate in the fact that he left.
But the romantic in me just couldn’t stop till I did the impossible, The romantic in me has no eyes, no ears only a tongue to ask for more. The work of running, begging, searching for a lost coin was left to me.
So I picked a random coin and lied thatit was his, just likeI picked him in this world of millions and I told myself he is mine.
I wanted to to tell him that even I was tired of my“shows of love” which played one lie after another till someone broke. But I guess he knows already.
Don’t tell me of your love. Tell me you’ll leave tomorrow and stay a day more. Move an inch closer when I take your name. Let me not believe you sometimes and smile when I do. I don’t want love, but I will try to want it, if you try to want me slowly and cautiously. When you put on that random radio station let me stare at you as you dance, breathe as if I am not here, let me see who you are without this want for me. Smile when you catch my eye and kiss me if I smile back.
as you melt your heart into oceans i fear my arms betray me sometimes, sometimes they go numb, they surrender at the thought of your warmth. when you tell me of your love as i ache for another, i want a part of me to ache for you as well. when you settle for being my comfort rather than my love, i wish i had loved you instead. but we are selfish dear i cannot give up just as you can’t. we wait to be seen by the one we can’t seem to reach. we wait because that’s the only answer we have. we try to forget the love that we can have but don’t want. i am fond of you, so forget me if you can. i can’t bear to see my pitiful self in you, i can’t bear to drag you down to my hell only to leave you alone.
“i was born like this”, I lie, when I really want to say
“the normal ones, the sane ones are surprisingly excellent at breaking anyone without any guilt whatsoever.
i no longer have strength to leave them, or beg them, or handle the repercussion of wanting them.
i fear them only when i cry though i am not exactly sure why it should be so.
the positivity, the kindness, the unity, the charity, the world peace that they talk about looks so beautiful when put in action for example, there are holes in me though i have never seen a bullet in my life and i am not allowed to say it is their doing “it is a result of my negative thinking and bad karma” i parrot like i have been taught to.
this burnt skin, this distrustful heart, the layers of clothes that are prerequisite of proving my modesty if god-forbid i let loose an animal in someone just because i exist, the logs of missed calls and blocked calls and blocked memories that are the only things protecting me now. this is how i was born.“
Though absurd, it sounds like truth the more I say it. This is how I hurt whatever is left of my heart.
The sandstorm is just another setting for this story to continue. There are no trees in our desert that could be broken. There are only lights that learn to flicker, there is only skin that knows what this wind carries, there are only roads that will drown.
With half closed eyes you walk out to search for what you have left behind. With half closed door I wait for you to return. I find another quote in another book foretelling the loveless life that will continue henceforth. Another book, another friend I must burn for speaking the truth, for wanting my best.
I am destined to die on the night of a full moon without a reason, without a witness, with a piece of broken mirror becoming a new part of my body- another prophesy that I wish you had not gifted me.
Three fairies sleep in our bed, who do not yet know the violence of your broken heart. I hope you get what you cry for, I hope you forget our names, I hope this storm saves us from every moon, every sky. I hope this storm saves us from you.
All the lights that were meant to light the way, end up looking like spotlights fragmenting the world. Fragments so beautiful that I never bothered with moving towards the place I was meant to go; that I sit here, saying goodbye to people who hope to see me wherever they will end up at.
But we won’t be seeing each other. I let them hope anyway. That hope makes them smile brighter. that’s the way I want to remember them, that’s the way I want to remember this world.
It is not easy though – to love all who love to keep walking and to love my small place and my small heart at the same time. It is easier for everyone – for the one who must stay and the one who must walk to think of empty hands as freedom however hollow it might feel.
“I can’t leave cause I am broken. No one would take me now. No one should have to make do with someone left behind.“ But its your voice that says all this. Your voice is stronger than mine. Yours is the only voice that I have.
The hope of a miraculous understanding has so far proven to be my weakness, a word that makes me give up and resign far too easily. “Do what you want. I have no choice but to love you. Or else I might end up hate myself as well.“ That’s what the hope of understanding makes me say.
I have been hearing voices speaking of everything that is true. I have been seeing the places we’ll end up even if we continue. Every medicine, ever distraction brings me guilt of looking away from you. So the easiest way to live with you is to console myself. I console myself everyday with the message of imperfect love, with the sight of imperfect you.