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.
For a change I made breakfast for one and didn’t cry over it. I didn’t turn back as he packed his favorite parts of this heavy life with me. He didn’t ask me about the things I have hidden away. I felt a bitter thankfulness that my memories are mine to keep, that my beautiful moments have been erased from his heart, that I am not a part of his greed and schemes anymore, that nothing in me can be ruined by him after this.
I simply stared at the milk that won’t boil as he dragged away in his small heart the window frames, the doors to my cold world, the warm flame of my blue stove, the table mats on which we spilled our hearts by mistake, the songs that I will never be able to sing again, the doorbell, the welcome mat, our plants that never grew more than a millimeter in spite of the four years of sunlight and rain. Mistakes. We created so much with love, only to call them mistakes.
I heard the door close behind me, my so called “heart” moving away without me and all I could do was hope or pity myself. All I could do was hate him so that I can finally give up.
i can’t…i just can’t bring myself to remove all the ellipsis…that i leave behind in my sentences. i know they look shabby… as if i don’t know how to create proper sentences…as if i have never heard of a comma. i am told it is something similar to ending and pausing sentences with “you know”.
“so juvenile”…my friend had commented. i remember saying the same words to my friends as well (but i don’t think my tone was the same, but i could be mistaken…or self righteous)…so it seems i am not allowed to take it to heart. i am supposed to erase the ellipsis…till they smile again and lie that “i will do better”…or that “it’s time i grow up”…or “gotta become a real poet”.
it seems it is okay to store my ellipses in my mind to place it on an empty sky, on the face of my teacher sprinkled with a hatred that i can’t understand, on the hands that never reach out to me in daylight, on the future i can’t seem to dream about, on every minute that i walk alone on the streets where i thought i would never have to be alone, on the days when i know the answer but won’t speak up for the fear of being right. i don’t know how to live a life where what i think has importance or the acceptance of others. need to find a better home for my pauses than pages that are mine but only with conditions.
Now that we are an year apart. Now that everyone has been talking about new beginnings and second chances, I let myself be myself, let myself be swayed at the hope, at the thought of the ONE.
But being myself also means to be keep my heart broken. It means to leave every crowded room to find the corridors where I can be finally alone with the mistakes I am about to make.
I hold someone who could have been you but is not. I cry the same tears that once made you pity me. I jot down a name and a number and a weakness, a need where I could fit myself into.
And as I lay in bed I feel something sad and beautiful in my heart- an end that I am creating for myself. This is how love has always been for me, so I let it be and smile as I kiss another stranger who won’t be able to save me from anything.
Come home and lie that you know how to miss me. Pass me by a thousand time in these small rooms, none which feel like the home I wanted. Once you told me that the issue is that I want a lot of things, that I want too much. That wanting doesn’t suit someone like me. I find the person I am not in everything you like, everything that makes you loose control, everything that forces you to make mistakes. When I cried the first time, you told me that you can’t help that your heart doesn’t say my name. You told me as an assurance that your heart doesn’t know love for anyone else either. I am a person like that, who hoped that you can be mine as long as you are no one else’s. I am person like that, who stayed because no one did and no one would. A person who cries everyday, only to hear your assurances again, only to hear the lies that can save my breaking love for you.
From the corner of my eye I see you smile, I see it fade. I see you fade.
From the corner of my eye falls a tear, as I run into my mistakes, run into my cruel words, as I try to find you, in this place where you once lead me by my hand.
In every space, in every memory, in every version of our past where you promised you would always stay even if we part. You look a bit more tired. I look a bit more impatient. This is not the reality I lived. This is not the love I had.
Tell me, even if it changes nothing, tell me that I once had your heart, that there are moments you want to return to even when you don’t want me back.
as i get inside the crowded bus, a phone rings. a ringtone just like yours.
has the world shrunk to the size of the tragedy we created, that i find you like this?
i know it is not you, but it could be. so i do not turn back. it could be you, so i try not to cry.
this is not where walking away or breaking clean should lead to. at least not back to you. at least not like this. not on the day i finally felt that i could move toward a new happiness.
why did you come back? to tell me how i am not worthy of anything good? to tell me no one can love something like me? to tell me how thinking is unhealthy for love like ours? to check if my skin remembers your anger? to tell me to speak softly, to submit to your wishes if i wish to be forgiven for your mistakes?
why did you come back, when you don’t even want me?
I will spend some nights
listening to why I am not the one you can love.
I will keep you awake and keep myself in pain
till I get this list down,
till I memorize it all,
till “who I am” just means “what you can’t love”.
I daydream about how I will leave you.
In this fiction
I know how to stop,
there I have given up on you,
there you are seek my acceptance for a change.
But I stop dreaming just before devising,
drawing a bright future without you,
without your rejection.
I stop because I have calls to answer,
mistakes to regret, trips to plan,
friends to cut off, paint my room black,…
I stop because there is so much suffering
I have to live through
before I am allowed to forget you.
i never learnt about gardening, nor about patience, nor about caring, nor about looking after anything that doesn’t speak, doesn’t complain, doesn’t tell me in plain words how i am terrible, how i mistakes make me even if those mistakes are not mine.
i wish i was blind, i wish i was mute, i wish i was the cactus in your bedroom. i wish i was the books you didn’t read but can’t throw away. i wish i could stop wanting to be a decoration in your life. i wish i could stay human and stay in love at the same time.
in my room i close my eyes, and find myself with you. it must be dream, i wish it was. for here you don’t cry because of me, don’t have to tear yourself up just to be nice to me. i wish it was a dream because here i have forgotten to tell you that i can’t love anything that loves me back. i wish you stop making my heart ache with your sincerity. i wish i woke up before you sacrifice anything more than you already have.
I jokingly said that I would hate it to be someone else- someone who would have to suffer me. But before my face realizes what my heart meant, where it becomes apparent in my eyes that I am nowhere near recovery, before I panic at being taken seriously, someone cuts me off with laughter, with agreement, with proofs supporting my observation, with a list of my faults I may have missed, with an funny anecdote about about the time I was too broken to think straight.
I wish I had not broken into laughter when I put myself down. I wish ‘laughing it away’ was a trick that worked in my life. I was never mistaken that ‘tricks’ changes reality, builds back and heals all that is in pieces and all that is in pain. It’s just a way to turn blind to what I cannot change. But walking blind is worse than I had thought. I keep colliding with harmless words, bruise myself, and recoil back in the fear of what I may find if I took a step forward.