the dirt on my clothes- the white muslin and the brown chewed words, the earth dripping. its spots, that i dare not touch, they seep in, seep into the revolting blanks in me. the tireless cutters of trees, the sleepless lumberjacks in me, look up at my skin and its new ink they stop and breathe in some understanding. they choke on it, they sleep on it they carve it on everything they have destroyed. they have new gods again. gods that they will never pray to nor please. the gods they can’t ever leave.
The silence was deafening because there were people in it. There was a tiny space made of granite, a smallness born out of the spacious halls now crowded with people. the air stale with staring. The long moments of confused and alienating gazes. The wait. And for what? Everyone knew they must speak, only then a god will be formed, only then we’ll have a reason to meet again. But they were afraid of everything. which was not really a problem. They also felt among many other things that only they felt and knew fear, that fear kept only them as a pet to be played with. They felt good and miserable when they though that. They also felt special. And because we were all special and doomed and carried poetry in us to be looked at, to be listened to we all stood there staring. We stood shoulder to shoulder, sorrow to sorrow trying prove to others that we knew life, and that once, once we really did live. But all we were seeing and feeling under our feet, in the hollow of our hands was that place, the house on the slippery slope, the home we could never leave. We were all there alone. Trying to avoid the weight of another person who might just end it all for us by saying something stupid as “you are a bit too much for me” and “this generation is not capable of love” and “poverty is a state of mind” Or something as true as “this was a bad idea”, “you do know that we will never meet again, don’t you? at least we are all praying for that.”
I washed my face and with the water dripping from my messy bangs onto the dress that I never planned to ruin I stared at the ant on the wall. I listened to the sound of you falling in love again just across the wall.
I held in the meaning of this along with my breath. I blew at the ant wondering if I can be a force to be reckoned with a hurricane for someone else. Maybe not. I felt a sense of camaraderie with the legs of prey today. So maybe not today.
Or maybe never. I feel you would laugh even if I tried to be one. I feel a storm. I always feel it at my back whenever I turn away from you. I wish I could fear for you, worry about you in those moments and not think about the knives that leave your hand always to find me. Though you say you never meant it to be that way.
I fear most – the words of love from your lips, because they are never for me, but always said within my earshot And though you say love is like that for everyone, but do you really fear the same things as me? Do you pray to the gods of bathroom ants for forgetfulness, for survival as if love is force that will always be against you?
she said “the star you are looking at, that almost has your heart is already dead long before and even if you pray for her it will reach her too late. that is the nature of distances that exists between us and them. our prayers don’t matter they will never get to hear it. we can only stand here in this lonely grassland and romanticize death.”
“or” he said, “we can send a prayer anyway and hope that by the time it reaches there something new is born out of all that is dead. maybe when that young seed of something, that will be made out of glowing organs of forgone star, will hear us and pray for the dying world of someone else. maybe it will hear us and send us back something a thought, a smile, a romanticized want to reach further- to the sender of this futile love.”
It is time that I try hard to get my heart broken and pretend that it is happening for the first time,
to claim that I trusted blindly knowing it is not something I am capable of,
to fit my body awkwardly in the kind of life that people call ‘life’
to find words, to practice the new lingo that can make something about me relatable, so that my skin soaked in a tiring tale of sadness doesn’t make me an alien,
to fill me up again with pictures of parks, cafes, malls, and roads filled with people who supposedly like each other, if not a lot, then at least enough to not let their ailing self ruin the perfect moment, the perfect teamwork, the perfect promise. (Perfection that relies on someone else doesn’t sit well with me.)
It is time I find something new that I cannot be or cannot have before I lock myself up again for next hundred heart years.
So while I am out to find something to write about and hurt about miss me my cell, pray for me. I am afraid that once I am surrounded by all that I have learned not to want, I might start to hope again. I might slip again. I might forget to see the distance that I carry in me and get disappointed by the doors that I can’t reach.
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.
wave after wave of cold air, of sad premonitions reached us, tried to convince us that this was a really bad idea. that on a cold day like this there were easier ways to find warmth, ways that would take away no part of us.
and frankly i was afraid. i stopped maybe a million times on my tracks. i waited for someone to call me to remind me of something really urgent that needed my attention. i almost prayed for you to give up.
but you kept walking. you kept repeating that this would be fun. so even when your hands were shaking and even when your eyes were red, i chose not to notice it. i chose to believe that your heart is stronger, that you would get us there.
you were always better at pretending for my sake. you pretended to know all the answers while i shamelessly hid behind you when doubts barked at me on streets. so when we walk on the river that could melt any day, any moment i wanted you to lean on my heart for once.
my fearful weak heart was the only thing i could give. i knew my love would last only moments and yours would last an eternity. but selfishly i held onto you. so when i kissed you and you smiled, i want to say i felt sad and guilty, but i did not. i was just happy, probably the happiest on this planet to have touched this sun, this spring, this filler of all voids, to have become the reason you will break. i really am the worst.
i stumble, fall, bruise my face, find your lips break my ribs, kiss your hate and pray for the noise of my heart for your sad voice to be silenced. pray that i don’t wake up for a long long time is ‘long long time’ enough to be forgotten? pray that the ones i love who don’t want to love me, but they do do not walk into this scene where i plead in incomprehensible words for mercy, for death of my senses for a sleep without your face, without your ruined heart pray that they do not see how easily i break. pray they don’t force my last words to be the words that have always made my heart ache i love you?