The trees are alive today. They ask me to sing them to sleep for the last time. I sing for hours but they refuse to close their eyes.
They ask me how I have been, not waiting for my answer, in one breath they ask about the words they don’t understand, ask me about the days I do not remember anything about (there are so many days I have no memory of while I can’t forget the days I really want to forget), about the rain that has left us long ago.
Their love for this world that they do not understand- makes me jealous, makes me wonder, if I could love also this world as much as I want to if I knew a little less, if I gave up this human heart that knows nothing but to steal and plead, to take away and bleed. But if I knew how to give up myself for my greater good, I would have done so long ago.
I can only stay selfish, act better than what I am, sing songs to the trees that will soon be killed for my sake.
I walked into troubles, into fogged minds, into friend circles that cultivated their alter egos on every meager piece of earth that they otherwise couldn’t plant their feet upon.
I walked into crumbling cities, into impossible dreams, into the lifeless replicas of your heart- hoping you would come after me. But as time ate me up I just hoped that you’d remember name at the least.
I wish that you had stepped a little closer to me, given me false hope, and broken my heart. but I have nothing of you, nothing to hate you for, nothing to remember your love by, except the empty place I made for you to stay in me – the only part of me that makes living difficult for me.
I think of the clothes that are too tight or too loose for me, of my skin that doesn’t like me the way it used to. How the mirrors in my home are hidden by the growing towers of books. I wonder what this says about me? I think of the fear that I feel when I am alone, the fear that I feel when I walk into happiness. I think of the kinds of fear that fill my heart. I count them for a long time but nothing happens when I finish counting. I wonder if knowing myself is really the first step to solving my life. Do I want anything to be solved? I count the people that who no longer speak to me and half way through I remember that it was me who had thrown them away first. Silence is my weapon, not theirs. I realize I need to always hold a grudge against someone to live with strength. I wonder when this strength became so important to me. I wonder when this love that felt like a lemonade in summer actually became a commercialized product with an expiry date stamped on it before it even reaches our hands. I think of my skin by which I am stuck to a world like this. I wonder why I pretend to be better than this world by saying such stuff? Why am I so into acting all deep and philosophical? I wonder why I love to call myself broken even though I hate to be seen so? Don’t misunderstand me. I do not want answers. Answers are painful and pointless, answers are a tasteless end to the struggle that otherwise makes my heart bleed colors.
Even when I insisted that I am fine without relying on you. Even when I tried to keep only my best version in your eyes. When I said I can solve my problems and if I can’t, I will learn to live with them; to never trouble yourself with what I suffer or how I suffer.
You told me I no longer have to live like this, to not fear dependence in love. You lied that I am no longer alone. You liked to be a promise and nothing more. You wanted to be believed as much as I wanted to be never hurt.
So this wingless me left my land to fly with you, to go to a place where you can breathe better. And you realized the effort it takes to carry another person pretty late. Now I am stuck in a cloud and you are somewhere in this vast sky. You can give me only few hours of your day. There is a life that is meant for you and I shouldn’t come in your way.
I live on such crumbs of you that my heart wilts one petal, one dream at a time. Love can now no longer live in a heart like mine.
so the saint i read about walked this land, looked at this river, looked at this sky, and stood where I stand.
in the cases of glass there are letters, there are feelings i cannot understand. they say he made this place with love here his everything ends, where his nothing began.
but the glass turned into mirrors his writing became face of mine. i was pricked by the bitterness that were not supposed to be in his words.
how can he say the things we say? how can his cruelty be pardoned for his principle? why can i not call him hero like i used to, like everyone still does? why his truth makes me shrink away from every other truth? why does his life disappoint me so much?
i came here seeking nothing but i left losing a lot and doubting a lot. on my way back i left the what he once gave me and finally picked up what i should have.
As I walked around the city all night, as I put my tears on display on empty roads, I realized nothing has changed. Standing there I knew that I am okay if the world sees me like this. Even if the streets gets lighted I can continue to cry, I can be pathetic. I was fine being pitiful in every eye but yours. I feared how you might not like all this. And that’s why I had to show you what I looked like when you are not there. I knew I had to find your door and wake you up from this dream that could surely not be love. But as you finally opened up the door I found myself smiling again. Confused whether I am trying to hide myself again or you are all I need to forget my sorrow.
The wave that ran towards me, threatened me, filled me with fear, turned out to be nothing. It didn’t even reach me. The demons I saw in my future turned out to be nothing like I thought of. I kept you away. I suffered in vain. My life with you could have a paradise, if only I didn’t fear life so much.
i close all the doors as if a storm in coming, as if closed doors can protect me from something so huge, as if hiding is a better option than fleeing. ‘i wish i had created more places to hide in my life’ i thought this as tried to burn all my best clothes as if i will freeze to death otherwise and nothing i wear, no new face i paint on myself will deflect or reduce the hate in the eyes that look at me. soon i had nothing to burn, nothing to destroy. only resentment against myself, only a feeling of failure continued to live in this body growing each second, trying to push me out.
“We are stronger than we think.” I always avoid saying such nonsense. I have always hated words that have no meaning , no real sympathy, words that almost sound like: “shut up! stop crying! we have had enough. don’t make the atmosphere so depressing. we can’t help it. you can’t either. why bring up such topics.” I never wanted to sound like that to anyone. I don’t want to be one of those who consider consoling someone equal to convincing them that what they considered precious, what they considered life shattering was nothing, that what the grieving cares for is nothing.
But then, what are the right words?
“We are stronger than we think.” To spew such nonsense. Even when I said that to her, I wondered why I said that. Have I been surprised by my strength ever in my life? Probably not.
But I remember feeling that my happiest days have walked past me, when I realized the futility of life, of my life, my insignificance. And how I somehow made it to the days where I found something to look forward to, where I found myself between people whom I could love. The fact that I could wait for such days in spite of the misery that was once unbearable must mean something. To wait for something that may never arrive must require some kind of strength. To loose every paradise we stumble on, to bleed every time it is lost and to still believe in the concept of paradise must require something more than the strength we think we have.
It pains me to say this but I can live without you. So remember my cruelty and forget me as easily as I have cast you aside.
You look better without my shadow and my life is easier without your light. Not everything in our life is about love. We are more than what our hearts want. We are more than whom we find. I will give you company till the night ends but that it where we part there is nothing to us more than that.