His face lit up with the death of every colorful explosion in the sky. He hates this sky on other days (among other things). Today he loves it, this darkness, this crowd, even me. (Maybe not me, but it doesn’t mean anything to me now. But in moments like this I am reminded of the “me” who would have wanted his love or at least be part of the world that can be loved. The ‘past me’ shakes off my hand and stands there looking at him as if he is her sky, but only finds the signs of deaths that have nothing spectacular about them. I stand there looking at my sadness, his sadness breathing the air and living some sort of life for once.) He stands there looking at the sky through my silence, through my awe, awe at his simple happiness. (How long has it been since he has loved anything with his breaking heart.) He stands there looking at the sky even when curtain of stars resurface, even when the screams of children dissolve. He stands there abandoned by the world and yet happy. (I stand there abandoned by him, by myself and yet happy)
You walk in with a cake of rust, two hours late. You kiss me , wait for me to smile, to say thanks, to make another offering of myself at your shrine.
You tell me of love, the only love that you cannot get out of your heart. This love that suffocates you these days more than before. How my face asks for too much, even when my voice doesn’t.
I cross out and mess up the frosting trying to hide the wrong name. These days I don’t correct you, or remind you of who I am, and so you forget me just as I thought you would, just as you promised you wouldn’t.
My half hidden sighs tell me that I am just an appointment, things that have to be done, feel good pill of a the mean god that you are. The clearer I see this the more I want to speak against you, to hold you closer with my rage.
I want to speak of all the facts I have on you- the bitter candies from the assembly line that my minds works overtime overnight, to show you the moments you hated yourself most again and again and again. I am weak like that. I am mean like that. And now I don’t want to be better. I wasn’t like this always but now this all I can be.
I don’t remember or expect a beautiful love, now neither should you.
i slipped, fell, and cut my skin. i didn’t want to care, but i did. i couldn’t help but feel sorry for all the harmless things that ended up being cursed at, blamed for only because i ran towards them with all that i had in me. i recalled the formula of impact, that never meant so much to me till i realized that I also have a body that follows every law ordained by nature. that just because i can imagine and dream an eternity, doesn’t make me or my feelings eternal. i didn’t want to care about such things, but i did. i cared so much that it hurt, even when it should’t.
She told me I feel like frozen tulips and I do not know what she meant by that. She never talks of flowers or future or what I might be in this world by myself or by her side. So we pretend such words were never said. We pretend that the meaning we give to each other’s words are true and real and the only meaning we need.
she traced the light on my chest pulled out everything that stung- the swings, my feet, the shadow i decided no longer to play with.
the comparision table of veins and arteries copied into my notebook. the eraser and pencil that helped me document in those tables my lackings compared to everyone else.
a page torn, and then another, and then another. pages that learnt immortality by choosing my heart as home.
she stayed up nights trying to free me as i stuggled and begged not to empty me. she smiled and said the words she didn’t mean, words that i wanted to hear from someone, anyone.
so i slept because she couldn’t be stopped. “leave me alone” now hurt me more than her. i opened my eyes and cried for her work was done, now i was no one, now nothing was mine, not even my pain, not even her.
she dusted her cobweb skirt, placed a kiss on my forehead and told me to breathe, breathe in everything that i didn’t think i had the right to.
she told me to breathe and to never forget what suffocation felt like. it helps in becoming kind, she said.
as she wiped clean her traces from my life, i felt better, again i was full. i was full of her, of this love that won’t work out. being full of her, i refused to breathe, because i wanted to keep it that way.
i thought… i wanted… i am always looking for… i am nothing without…
must i fill these sentences? is it compulsory to tell you where it hurts and why?
the pencil bends and breaks in my hand, but my voice won’t crack. i think a bit of my cruelty shows through everything that i do.
“have you ever wanted to be a person like me?” when i ask you this, you avoid my eyes. the often-spoken-and-never-meant words surface on your lips, “i love you for who you are, i want nothing more” sadly followed by “it is not too late to change”
matter, substance, meaning… as my vocabulary expanded with such words, i knew, i had an inkling that this is how i would be disillusioned, with such small words i would be driven to despair.
i would find there is another face behind every smile, and that some of those upturned lips are just empty coffins. a smile so sad, a wordless lie so easily becomes the most normal thing.
but do i even want to know who lives behind such elaborate masks? do i care to know how they breathe? do i want to know who breathes in me? or whether anyone really care about me?
i knew that now, given that i have learnt to ask all the questions whose answers can’t be verified, living and trusting was bound to become harder. now that i knew that i am not capable of knowing myself, seeing my reflection was bound to get painful and confusing. confusion is such a small word for what life does to us. all the small words that are easily said than meant- i hope i forget them before i forget myself.
today’s sadness is brought upon by the increasing count of the words that i have forbidden myself to speak.
today’s sadness is brought upon by the particularly sad song that i have chosen to listen.
today’s sadness is partially due to the strangers with sweet eyes, partially due to my angels with weak hearts, and also the fact that i must love (and have loved) everything wrong without causing pain to anyone but myself.
i must write without baring myself. i must write to never let myself forget what i can’t speak.
do not write this, do not be mean, do not be ungrateful do not blame, no names, no dates, do not put anyone’s weakness on show
all such favors that i must do for the sake of my perpetrators and my protectors.
i must act like a better person, even when i am not in my fingers i am told to hold everyone’s shame and everyone’s guilt, and find my freedom in that.
today’s sadness is a breather, the rare moment i allow myself to see how messed up all this is, before i turn off the light only to stumble through life again.
If you were to find a love that could make you complete, I hope you find it with me. I hope I become better before you start looking for this love. So that being myself won’t mean being cruel and uncaring. So that loving me won’t be a sacrifice.
I want to have you without breaking you and without breaking me. But how often does life work out like that.
When you became the question of my life, all I could do was hope because what I had was not enough for myself. What if you were to ask me something that would remind me of my poverty?
I am afraid that this is what you are meant to do in my life- remind me again and again that I am lacking in so many ways.
But all I can do is try try to become someone who has lesser faults. Because giving you up is not something that I would ever want. But some nights I wonder how long will I last before I collapse under the weight of your wants and mine.