I woke up in tears and I couldn’t go back to sleep.
As I slept I felt things move around me, someone climbing down my window, someone flying out with unfamiliar and awkward wings. In my sleep I heard the unbearable wailing of my words that should have otherwise lying dead on my table.
I couldn’t go back to sleep. Because something was wrong. Someone was again changing me without my knowledge. Someone was again waiting for my gratitude to fill the words of my lifeless words of thanks.
The moon was no longer a moon but an eraser waiting for me to sleep so it can go on and erase everything that was left in this life. In the 3 hours I had slept away I had already lost memories worth 3 years so easily without even putting up a fight. Even if I didn’t know what should be here but no longer is, I somehow I knew that I would always know that something is missing. I knew what that feeling will do to me. I knew how it would make me do everything that I regret having done. I knew all that Because I have found myself so often at this point.
The point of forgeting – the forceful hands of God trying to pry open my hands, the painful flying away of my pain, the painful end of my love, the hideous and disgusting sight of my hands wanting something, anything to hold again at any cost.
I knew not to fall for this scheme again. So I walked upto the window, looked at all the sleeping rooms scattered in front of me, rooms where no one really slept. I looked at the concrete street below, felt its dangerous height in me, felt the distance between me and the true oblivion. I played with the dangerous power of choice before it frightened me with its truth. I heard someone laugh, before I turned back. I heard them back at their work as I found myself sleeping in the familiar bed of choices that never feel right. The only choice I want to believe I have.
On the broken lines of bold white, on the burning roads far away from home I knelt down in the heap of my skirt made of fairy dust and disappointments of all kinds.
I found a pretty crack with space enough to be something of its own and with a style that you’d agree with. With my fingertips already crying red I wrote you name in the best writing I could.
Your name that couldn’t fit beside mine, or the scorecards with better marks, or a business card that was not a part of scam, or with a number that could for once be reached, or the nameplate that you kept losing in the sleepy playgrounds of our eyes.
We missed you.
We missed you. in the conversations where we thought only of you and yet couldn’t speak of you. We thought of you always with an ache, always with a heart that wanted more of you while wanting to forget the little that we had.
I wrote your name and ran my fingers over them again. A kid knelt down beside me offering me a smile as he took in a pain he couldn’t understand. Today, of all days, I was not allowed to smile.
I walked away wondering if he knew you, if he now lives in your name, if he knows someone who wrote like me, who wrote words that will fit nowhere but here. Your name could be anybody else’s. You could have lived like everyone else and yet…
Her floor had always been the color of the season I remember this, only when I step into the mess of her life. The spring issues lay scattered like the flowers The pink, red, yellows, and greens, women who only know youth, women who only grow younger the kind of woman she wanted to be (what a small impossible dream) and she almost is. And now that she can never change would she be happy? When/if she comes across her own lifeless eyes in the missing posters would she be glad to be one of the “sad popular”? I shatter the home of her missing goldfish in my haste efforts to pick them up and put them out of sight- the bundles of glossy paper that my eyes can’t handle. I try to put them away, wanting to throw them away now that she wouldn’t mind, now that she won’t yell at me or anyone for taking away too much of her. I want to try it. i want to try, so she has no option but to stop me. “let’s leave her in peace” tells me my moral compass and my grief. “i don’t want to show her the kind of respect that only dead deserve” shouts back my anger and my love. I drop the heaviest bag in this world on her rain soaked bed. Her last dress, her last chocolate wrapper, her last bus ticket, her last mistake, her last breath everything spilling out, everything ruining the spring that I dreamed for her along with her.
I hate to admit this to myself but I can’t quite understand you. At worst, I judge your unreasonable feelings and your self-indulgence. Often I step away and try hard to feel your pain and yet it escapes me. Whatever I imagine is the landscape of your heart is, it is never quite correct. Something really important, probably a loss that I have never faced, is missing from my understanding. “this is not how i should be”- I end up thinking this every time when I think of you. When you say “you won’t understand”, I once again realize how insufficient I am. Because you are right. Because I can’t understand. I wonder if one day I can do something more than just loving you. I wonder if one day I can see you as you want to be seen.
And every morning I hear wind, I hear birds, I hear children play around in me. I am filling myself with everything that reminds me of what I really am. I let my heart do what it wants, my heart wants no part in this remaking of me. It starts it’s days praying for your return and goes to sleep, thankful that you won’t.
now that we both are standing lost at this market to sell our heart. now when you are just a silent mural, i feel like pretending to miss you. in fact, that is the only thing i do.
every day, i write something that could make a better monster of you. every night, i get better at shedding fake tears. our love looks like a lost cause even now, but it looks more beautiful since there is nothing real about it anymore.
“it is all fiction”, i tell them. “i am a liar”, i shout. but they love me anyway. they love me the way you should have, you could have, it was the easiest thing to do. there were so many easy things, things that will never be easy again. since, i have chosen the most ridiculous way to live and the most difficult the way to die, the only non-pathetic way to die in our love.
Just for sake of missing you, here I am again, at the ill-lit spaces where you used to belong. I know all the strangers in there the ones who used to make your heart race. Here I am again, trying to test myself, pushing my luck, waiting to witness the record time in which I will break again. Here I am again, wearing all the faces of me that you never liked. There was something about the way you hated me, that made me become worse. There was something about the way you loved me, that made me become the worst. Here I am again to become the monster that I have been since I realized what it means to love you.
the doors, the light falling on us, the grass that grew by the roads that we walked, the flowers in our backyard, everything. you changed everything. you filled everything with so much light and drew every object around you with such intense colors that I had to love you.
but you could not change me.
my heart stirred in its sleep but never wanted to wake up and decide. i am not dragging you down for what happened. i am not saying that you were enough.
i am saying that it was your benevolence-
how you never tried to take this fabric of my skin and sew it something that would fit you,
how you remained the wide blue sky and how i remained a small disappearing brook,
how my heart felt small to even hold an essence of you, how i feared to lose you,
how i wanted to lose you for once, to be free from this fear
that is what drove us apart.
some days i wished for you to fall into me, to make me something more than i am. some days i wished i never met you, never became aware with how small i am.
I put on my favorite show (that I have seen for umpteenth time), increase the volume, fill my plate. My eyes glued to TV notices too late all that I have spilled, fill my plate with things I won’t eat.
The same beautiful scene. Under the yellow light stand two actors, pretending to be in love, doing a better job at it that we ever could, saying words we could never say.
My heart breaks to see this love, it pops like a bubble wrap, bursts like a bubble of daydreams. No, it doesn’t hurt. I just hear a sound from the otherwise silent machinery that keeps me running.
I am glad you meant enough to me to have become a familiar bump on the familiar road that my heart always takes.
Since I knew nothing is replaceable, I couldn’t properly miss anything. To stay at one place and to miss another seemed unfair, seemed to mean that there is only one place where my mind could be at ease. But fortunately or unfortunately, it was not so. I knew that almost any place can be made into home, that starting new isn’t a big deal if you do it often. I slept well anywhere I went. Since I was lonely everywhere I went that made everything much easier, I guess.