The ones who left
I hope they left with pockets full of everything that was mine,
that way I can resent them in peace
and call them thieves and scoundrels when I get drunk,
instead feeling that I have wronged them by being myself,
by having nothing in me worth staying for.
You are gone
and I try to hold the spoon like you used to.
I chew my food with my left molars as you did.
The ghosts that I have wronged, that I have forgotten
now include half of my teeth, teeth you would have never used.
You are gone
and you are happy (probably).
So I memorize name and phone number
of your every friend,
I recall the fondness you had for them.
I wear your feelings when I meet them,
I wear your feelings even when they won’t fit me.
I wonder if they noticed how I was spilling at some places,
how I was non existent in other folds-
folds that used to hold you so well.
You are gone
and I am gone (or that’s what I think).
I am my work, I am my songs,
I am the adjectives you made for me,
I am the report cards, I am the dust that settles on it,
I am the afternoon TV shows, I am the language I don’t understand.
I am what I am fond of.
I am mostly just you.
You are gone
and I fear
there is no one that can
stop me from growing
Most my life is about
standing at the edge with the others
and choosing whether to push them first
or giving up on myself, by throwing myself away.
And all my decisions have ended up
in wait for someone else to decide my fate.
Wait long enough to think we are friends
who are here watching the world set on the sun,
wait long enough to feel betrayed by the choice
I myself would have made
at some point.
But I think there may have been iterations
that I choose not to remember
where I was the one who severed my feelings for others
with series of selfish decision.
That is probably why
even when I fall
instead of feeling resentment,
I say to myself
“suffer a little more, pay it all off
that is all that is left too do now.”
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.
I couldn’t look into the eyes of the people I knew all my life
or even people who never knew me.
Every morning I woke up
I felt I have left a part of me in the nightmare
of the last the day.
I was afraid that with every hello that I said
I will leave open a crack in my mind
for people to look into.
That all that I had written on paper
is printed on my skin.
I was afraid that if people knew of my condition
I would not have enough energy or excuses
to refute their point
if they put their suspicions in words.
I was afraid of lot of things
for a long time
and most of it was to be seen in a way
that I didn’t want to be seen.
I am tempted to walk into the night
and look for you
who has always stood
on the other side of my fear,
waiting for me everyday,
carrying a flower of hundred petals
petals that wither one by one
like the clock that marks days not hours,
days that otherwise would have been too long
if something didn’t tell us
again and again
that not much time has passed
and not much time is left.
Though by the waters of sorrow
that reach till my chest,
I can tell that it would be too late
and too futile
even if we meet now,
when all the happiness
that we came with has been spent
by our imprudent youth.
But still even if it is late
I want to come to you,
Even if I am broken
I want to be yours.
Even if for a day.
It was gruesome
because everyone kept walking,
thinking they can move on and grow up,
only if they stepped over
whatever was left of themselves
to become friends with the faces
that are still drunk and happy
with the taste of their weakness.
It was scary
because it was normal
to be cruel,
not only in hatred, but also in love.
It was unbearable,
till it was not.
Till my eyes adjusted to the red,
till my hand became familiar
with touching all that is dying
or touching only to kill.
Till I learnt to close my eyes
I couldn’t save.
There was no breath left to let out
as I throw myself down the stairs.
And every step that I tumble down,
I feel breaking bones.
Muscles and knuckles
losing another bubble of a happy memory
that I once thought would be enough to keep me alive.
My broken thoughts rush into my blood
into my empty lungs,
almost convinced that this the last
they will see of me.
And I never tire out.
I never feel sore enough or pained enough
to stop myself from doing this to me.
But while I took you for another wall
that existed to break me,
another voice to help me fill up
pages of essays of self-hatred
and regrets that do not forget me.
You became the arms that hold me, lift me
And carry my burden of life along with me.
And for first time
I want to live better.
And I want you in that better life with me.
that your dream had to be about me.
That you placed all the pieces left of you
in that dream
and placed it in my care.
If only you had seen the cracked edges of mine
that were going to become your future.
If only I had known my incapability
to love or be loved.
I would not have to see your tears.
I would not have to ache this bad.
Why have you become the book I pick up every now and then,
but never have the courage to finish nor to give up.
Can it be, that
somehow we have become so much like each other
that we we have lost our own skies
lost our own rivers
and we have created this world
where there is only us.
Can it be, that the ground here shakes
to become separate,
that the air here is heavier than it was.
Only we are left to witness each other
being driven to become our worst self.
And the only enemy left to fight
are we our self.