How are you? Are you still there where we learnt to leave? Since you left I have changed my address a few times already. My heart doesn’t lie broken on the streets that only you could walk. I find it funny and interesting and sad that once I believed in “one and only love”, that once I believed that I have found what the rest of the world could not.
My hands don’t feel like my hands now, Now that my hands have reached out for love even after you. My mind doesn’t feel like my mind, now that my mind can forget any hurt caused by love, now that my mind can easily rewrite love as something else something trivial, something passing by, something non-existent, the moment I am near another light-filled human who only wants a breaking out of me.
I feel less like myself, the more I heal myself. Whatever grows out of me doesn’t want to be anything like the person you loved, the person I was so proud to be, the person who couldn’t live without wounds.
It hurts less in the body I am now in. It hurts less to know finally that I am more than enough to fill the void of my own size – the everyday lacking that I always felt I needed to do something about.
I find it funny and interesting and sad that I could learn to live only by losing you, by learning to walk away from you.
years from now i hope my living room has a space for a lovely piano. i hope my fingers would play something beautiful on it. that here i would smile and not know of the passing time. that i would learn to love my walls as much as the world that stands on the other side. as my child misses me, cries for me, tries to keep me alive when i am not, i hope she feels this music she can’t hear, i hope she sees the future i couldn’t finish living, i hope she knows that my warmth is more than my skin and my blood running under it.
beauty may be only skin deep but lack of it goes deeper than that. so deep that you end up learning to want things that you wouldn’t otherwise even think about. i wish i could remember every face that was surprised to know that i am okay with looking older than i am, surprised that i do not want to exorcise fats especially when i have got so much of it. every morning i wake up they hover over me like faceless shadows with black markers, drawing over my body showing me all that is wrong, giving me tips so that i can become easy to look at, hiding their superficiality under the wraps of concern, whispering how thick-skinned i am when i don’t listen and wondering what is wrong with the ones who love me. it made me wonder that maybe going under the knife wouldn’t be as bad as being smeared black by markers. that maybe i am supposed to love myself only after the world approves of the ‘me’ that i want to love. i would have understood if they cared, if they actually meant good, but they don’t because they know nothing more than my name and they say my name only with heart-breaking adjectives and assumptions. i want to say they are wrong, but i have suffered their gaze for so long that sometimes i end up sharing their hatred of me, of what they see. there are days that i obsess over a passing comment. there are days i beat up myself for being like this. i starve and fail, i try to get over their words and fail, i try to hate myself and fail. i want to say it doesn’t matter but it does because i am tiring myself out by trying to see something good in me, by apologizing to myself, by trying to save my heart while they burn my body in the woods.
I find myself longing to look at the sun
and the morsel of half-cooked food
stays on my tongue
a little bit longer than it should.
The door opens with a sound of crashing waves
and so I know it is you who has come.
With my back to your face,
I smile to myself.
I have kept aside a portion
of this tasteless life for you.
The silent mornings, the passing time,
these aging bones-
don’t seem as bad as it did,
now that you are here.