If you were to find a love that could make you complete, I hope you find it with me. I hope I become better before you start looking for this love. So that being myself won’t mean being cruel and uncaring. So that loving me won’t be a sacrifice.
I want to have you without breaking you and without breaking me. But how often does life work out like that.
When you became the question of my life, all I could do was hope because what I had was not enough for myself. What if you were to ask me something that would remind me of my poverty?
I am afraid that this is what you are meant to do in my life- remind me again and again that I am lacking in so many ways.
But all I can do is try try to become someone who has lesser faults. Because giving you up is not something that I would ever want. But some nights I wonder how long will I last before I collapse under the weight of your wants and mine.
I was sat down and told repeatedly everyday that though the world belongs to all of us, sometimes it is better to step back, to only take up the space we need. I misunderstood it to be a lesson in humility, wanting less, and sacrifice, but I realize now that it was not so. I was told to stop before I anger someone, before someone got jealous, or before they saw the weakness of my gender.
As I stand on the balcony at midnight and hear drunk shady men shouting, cursing, and stumbling, as they make their way to their broken homes, I remind myself this is what I am supposed to fled, a person who is allowed to loose their mind, a person who will always have excuse to hurt. This what everyone wanted me to become, someone who is proficient at spotting dangers, who can conjure up the worst possible scenarios when they hear another’s footsteps on deserted streets, and see the worst possible demons in the face of men.
These days I often hear people say that the new meaning of a powerful woman is the one who walks into misfortune willingly, before she is stalked and defeated by it. Is this the only alternative to what I am living?
I wish that when I walked past a stranger on streets I could smile and wish them a good day, without having to fear being misunderstood, without the echoes of ‘she asked for it’ in my mind.
I tell myself stories about why I threw away all that I had, or why everything was taken away from me. How I was too weak, will always be too weak to carry the weight of the gifts that I had. Or how I was never quite convinced that I had something to be proud of. How I was always trying to gauge how much deep my feelings ran for everything that I could only sort-of-love. I can list all similar attempts where I sought a better quantitative understanding of my specialness and used these unreliable results to decide how and when to give up. But if I had to give one consolidated story of why I was never a failure at anything, why I never succeeded, why I had nothing to show for the years I lived or for the talents that people remember me for. If I had to be concise and true I would say I never made those decisions, I was never aware of how I felt about all the things that bother me now. I drifted away from what I was, from what I treasured, the way dear friends lose touch, lose each others name, lose a happiness they could have had. Only to be reminded of this loss when it no longer matters.
From the day that I resolved
to create a door in my life
for you to move out me,
to forget you,
to even hate you, if it becomes necessary.
I thought resolve was all I needed
to get rid of the poison that you had become,
to create space for myself to grow into,
if I had to grow without love or understanding anyway.
I sorted myself and my memories
keeping only the ones that would help me
convince myself that you were bad for me,
that your love could blossom only
in the season of your selfishness,
the season where I was expected to wilt for your sake
and smile when you called it love.
I tried to remember
everything that I read in your mannerisms everyday,
everything I had overlooked as visions caused by my paranoia,
everything that came true,
everything that would have been true, only if I had let you.
I know that you were not evil,
but only human.
I know that I may have made you bleed
more that I can admit.
But I am also only a human.
Maybe I could have accepted your human nature
if my weakness, my complexes, my cruel words
could have been understood by you as well.
At some point
there was nothing you could do for me
than to remind me of my monstrosity everyday,
than to wait for me to breakdown.
At some point
there was nothing that I could do
than to walk away
and try to hate you.
As I use your ideals and words as the dressing to the greens that I hate, that I find hard to chew, I try to make myself understand you, convince myself that I am in wrong and I just know it yet. I remind myself that this time I can’t get it wrong, that this time I can’t run from all that I have chosen. I have lost a lot just because I wanted to live as me, I can’t loose you as well. When I begin to hate myself for losing my life in your eyes, I tell myself that one day I would thank myself for holding onto you in spite of all. So when I break and when it hurts, when I see that all this is not good for me, I crawl into your embrace silently asking you to tie me to yourself, to stop me from ruining all that we have.
You have left your reflection in my mirrors and now I have no choice but to dispose them. I do not want to see you tainted by anything that is mine.
You may not know this (and may you never know) but I love you because you are nothing like me, I love you because you cannot understand me. You remind of what I could be if life gave me better circumstances or if I knew how to choose better.
On you this shine of happiness, that life stole from me, on you they look better. If that is how the world works, if happiness is a fixed constant I’ll gladly let you have my share.
Though you are always holding my world together,
I do not mind everything falling apart
if in all the breaking
you are the only one kept intact.
Another happy news floats in the periphery of my vision.
Though it holds the love of those
who have found something to love,
something to live for-
it makes me restless.
I want to open these envelopes and mean it when i tell you how happy I am for you, but I am not.
I am sorry but I can’t be happy for you
because in your every word
that you have inked with excitement,
I am reminded that
I have never seen these same color in my own life.
When your letters find me, they find me too broken. I am sorry, I have lost too much of me already and can no longer give you anything but empty words.
Live well dear. Live your dream far away from me. It will keep your happiness intact and my bubble of ignorance unharmed.
One day (if ever) when I am no longer walking in my own darkness, I will find you and I will try to be the friend that you deserved to have. But till then I can only keep these letters unopened and my happiness for you undelivered.
All objects that I possess have stopped doing what they were meant to do. The window doesn’t bring me new air. The bed doesn’t give me rest. The glass filled with water and handful of pills promise me disconnection from reality, sleep, or even death but never the rest that I so want. The words on my books run around on pages, hating my gaze. The music breaks itself into disjointed string on noises.
It is as if one night while I lay trying to forget you, they voted and decided to forget me unanimously. They agreed and concluded that if someone must be forgotten it is me. So now they rebel, they serve only purpose- to remind me of all I lost simply by losing you.
I wonder if in every love
what I really seek is just amnesia,
a means to cut off myself from myself.
So I would know more of world
than just me.
But it is all hopeless
because even in my want to forget
I carry my vanity along.
I am only drawn to loves
that can separate me from what I have done
and what I want to be,
that can remind me of (or even become)
a moment in my life
where I was something precious
to someone else
and I was all they can see.
It seems I have another friendship to celebrate today
you-who is supposed to be my friend
is nowhere to be seen in the recent calls or messages,
nowhere in the list of people who wish me luck
and bless me on my birthday they don’t remember.
But isn’t friendship more than just
remembering certain dates.
I know that, so it doesn’t matter to me,
so I can let go of such minor details
and not be offended by what you don’t do.
Frankly I also have forgotten so much about you
that even when I am reminded of you
I do not feel much for what we are and how we have ended up.
And I think just like me
you also became aware of my existence
only because of this automated message.
But this is a world where we don’t have to cut ties
to keep distance,
a world where such distance doesn’t necessarily imply
negative feelings or history.
And this grayness of everything that doesn’t go away
even if I am ready look over it.
This grayness that we are prompted to maintain and celebrate
is what is ridiculous to me
and is what makes me sad.