I finally sit with people who have owned my mind, who have left it astray, who have come back at inopportune moments to claim a bit of my peace for their own heart.
They say guilt keeps them awake at nights. They say they need me once again. They need to see the smile of another victim to convince themselves that they deserve happiness, that they can move on.
They say the echoes of my cries in their head have grown worse with time. So I sit with them and tell them that they can live again. Only because I cannot bear these demands to be forgiven or the proposals of relationship grown on the manure of my corpse. So I ask them to forget me, so that I can forget them.
strangely even there, even on the canvas of my imagination where I get to act the god, even in that world where you are nothing but my creation, even there I can’t imagine a happier end for us.
because i can edit our photos on the cities we never got to visit and i can write you some words, give you some hints on how to make me want you want you back. but even when your puppet hugs mine back i know it’s only me, my hands, my heart, my body, my hopes hanging onto something that would never be you.
“so let it go“, i tell myself. “let’s stop calling every ache by the name of love. let’s put our ego to rest.“
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.
With each day crossed out. With each dresses, each mask added to the my wardrobe. With each hand that passed into mine, with each hand that moved onto the next too easily, I realized I knew how to dance to this tune that used to frighten me once.
Another stranger, another potential lover, another sun that has already grown cold, whispers in my ears – words I do understand.
I search for a harmless smile in my bag. I hang it carefully on my face. I turn myself into a gift, into a substitute of love for this person – who is dying like me, waiting like me, for something, anything to fill the time left.
i don’t want to move on from you, even though you are not what i want anymore. i can’t because i fear that i might start to love you again tomorrow. tomorrow – when it is already too late to take back words.
you utter this word so often with a sadness that sounds bigger than this word, bigger that whatever it may have given you at one time.
is this the sadness that you are trying to burn away? does it hurt when it also burns a part of you as well, turning whatever is left into charred surface?
is it convenient ? to have a heart that looks nothing like it. to mute her voice just to keep her face in your mind. to feel her lips, her words in your every kiss. to freeze yourself with a love that won’t breathe anymore.
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.