I folded her note and placed it carefully in my wallet. And I smiled. I told her something I do not remember now. It was something sweet, something weird, because that was the only sort of thing that could make her smile like that.
I folded her smile and placed it carefully in my wallet. And I smiled for a bit. I smiled till I saw the crease that now divided her in half. Trying to ignore the apparition of her breaking, trying to ignore my guilty heart, I gave her few words to smile about. She smiled as if she knew nothing. She smiled as if she knew everything that could ever be hidden in my heart.
I folded her forgiveness and placed it in my wallet. I smiled apologetically. She smiled back as if this is what love was. I recited to her all her favorite promises, probably to soothe my own heart.
I folded another note of forgiveness, and another, and another. The thickness of my wallet and her cracks increased by millimeters, they always walked hand in hand, unlike us. I bought her new flowers and she bought me new wallets. With a smile she told me something untrue about us, something that she could believe in. Maybe she waited for me to tell her something true for once.
But I folded every truth about us and hid it in the memories we won’t find our way back to. And just when I thought nothing can go wrong. I realized that I had also left her at that place where I was not allowed to live. She stared out and smiled from the warm rooms of love, far away from my unlovable heart.
I have tried so hard to become someone who cannot be be loved without effort or tears.
My faith in love, my faith in those who love or it’s absence is not so difficult to explain.
Clue: Every pop song that leaves you in shambles. Clue: The books that you call cheap literature. Clue: The lovers who want to get to the happy ending fast, so they can think about and focus on more important stuff. Clue: The sappy feelings that you are not interested in.
Those who first talk of my skin and my volume when they talk of love. (I mean you.) Those who think that my view of the world, and how the world views me is just a phase that won’t hopefully be their burden for life. (I mean you.) Those who tell me about my selfishness, my unreasonable fears, my unstable suspicious tiring mind over lunch as they run their blade over every bit of exposed skin of mine. Those who are satisfied when I don’t even wince as I bleed, just the way I have been trained. (I mean you.) You have made this whole process more difficult than it should be.
Don’t ask me the easy way. I might just begin to hate you for that question.
you and the me that i was, that you hated once, but not as much what i am right now
you and your rough sketch of me that looks like bits and pieces of your past lovers
you and your ticking clock, both waiting for me to change
you and you habit of making me wait, of walking out on me
you and your empty seat that you have already forgotten
you with your air of arrogance that i pretend not to see for the sake of loving you
you and your smile that sometimes (most of the times) have nothing to do with me
you and your calls out of blue, calling me love, calling me heartless, throwing me away and calling me back,
you and your words, your voice always asking for more
you and your insistence of loving in past and hating in present
you and your love that wants never to be associated with me
you and your cruelty of always forgetting (only) me, forgetting the hurt you cause
you asking me to love you back in spite of all, asking me to speak only in sweet words, never asking me how i made it through the pain you gave me last time, never wondering what do i want out of this love, that has no place for me