He stepped down from his ‘cloud nine of the day’ as I stepped out from my house made of last drops of rain and at the intersection of fleeting memories we fell in love. That is what I tell my friends when they ask me about the moment I was tempted to end the sadness of my life.
I tell them about the words I borrowed from his lips, his borrowed tongue that helped me eat a bit more. How I taped his adjectives on my mirror so that I wouldn’t have to look at myself.
They sit with me on the table I can’t bear to share with my love. They stare at me, as I ask them what to wear, how to hide my poison, how to hide the crack at the elbow, the bruised collarbone, the split lip, the ache in my heels, my frayed wings, my broken voice and all other reminders of what love has done to me, and what more love can do, if i just let it in again.
They tell me it is all healed. They tell me it is all past. They hold their skin against mine to make me see that the cracks are all in my mind, how everyone looks just like me, how everything wrong with me is now the norm. And they laughed when I looked at them with concern.
They dropped me at the restaurant and vanished at the farthest bend of the road. As I dragged my feet towards another story that I will never get to complete, another tragedy that suited only me, I looked back and tried to think of all the things that these kind friends of mine suffered as they hoped and wished and lied to themselves. The exceptions they now considered normal, the wounds they cannot even see, the pain they cannot call pain, the love they cannot bear to leave- I tasted these facts in every spoon of artificial sweetness I fed to my mouth that evening.
He lived in the cracks of the window I could never close. The sun and the wind, the winter on my cheeks were all him. It was a reminder of the mornings when he held the hands of his softer feelings, when he silently took the path to brokenness and named that day after me. It was the reminder of his kiss that would make me look away, make me look awkward, make me do everything almost wrong but with innocence- everything that made him smile. I would step on his shadow and before I apologized, he would step on mine. He would call it dancing cause there was no better word for that. I would smile back forgetting myself
It was a beautiful word. It was a moment that answered the question that I never knew how to ask.
A new announcer has replaced the old one. The one with the shrill voice is too tired or too sad to continue, I guess. This new one, she sounds more like my type. She seems like the one who will define my types. I am so thankful she is not the one who tells me to go back to sleep when I am crying at 3 without knowing why. So thankful that this deserted night, this cold concrete, her cold instructions, her reminder to wait patiently reminds me that this is also a day I will forget if I do not do anything. I am so thankful that I cannot confess my laughable weakness to her. If I wait as she tells me to my life will come swooping in and take me somewhere else- a new place where I will hate everyone again for not speaking the way I like, for loving me wrong, for not accompanying me on the empty train stations when I try to run away from all that I have built, from all that I have tried to call my new beginning.
i do not want to be a child who thinks that the world is this window where i wait for you to return. but i am.
and you are also the one who has promised to never return. but you have made many promises and you have broken so many of it. i guess i am counting on you to stay true to who you are and break another one.
i have done well on all my exams. i have cleaned my room. i have eaten all the greens. you will be able to love me now.
they say you found love late and the ones in love never return to the loveless families they want to forget. have we been forgotten? are we your embarrassing childhood photo?
mother cries a lot these days and so i can’t cry anymore. i can’t cry anymore and i hate you for taking away my tears.
please don’t ask me how my friend is doing. we broke up. we broke up the most decent way friends can break up. without deceit, without betrayal, without cruel words or bloody knife on our backs, without stories to hurt each other with, without attempts to patch up things, without deleting each other’s number that we never bothered to memorize. i do not remember her till someone says her name and when the sound of her name finds me through a stranger’s lips, i do not feel bitterness. i not miss her. a part of my heart is glad that life didn’t turn her my enemy but a part of me wonders how she turned out to be nothing in my life. when i see facebook notifications with her name, when i get a reminder of her birthday, when she calls me up once in a blue moon to ask a favor for “her friend” without bothering to ask how i have been, what is it that am i supposed to feel? i think it should hurt in some way. i am waiting for it to hurt. i am waiting to realize the meaning of this loss. i am waiting for the day I miss her. i want to miss her so much.
I can only go as far as my muscle memory takes me.
Since my mind is not here
and I can’t leave this body
that I have never been able to accept as mine.
There is a road that lies in front of me
and there is nothing for me to do
but to walk.
You bring me back to present
and ask me where I have been.
There is a place that I left lifetimes ago,
where I am searching for the reason of my grief.
There is a sun that rises only in the heart of the lost,
there is a mist I live in that you cannot see.
I can stand at any edge and be sure I won’t fall.
I can reach out for any happiness that I am sure I can’t have
and nothing will hurt me more than that.
There are losses that I am counting,
there are bruises I must count as gain only because of love.
Every hope I find
becomes a reminder of something I have already lost.
Can you teach me-
how to go about this life,
how to get rid of this part of me
that can only love the past?
I tell myself again and again
what it is that I really want
as I force myself to sit there and listen to every word
that diminishes the efforts I have put in my dream.
It makes me feel strong and pathetic at the same time,
that my wanting too little
could also be something that I must be criticized for,
something I must apologize for.
They force in their way into my mind
and take away every picture, every memory that exists
not for my happiness, not as a proof of my life
but a reminder, a reason for me to forgive and let go
of all the hurtful words that my dear ones
speak at me casually in the name of care.
I beg and cry inside,
outside I look unbothered.
I resort to everything,
anything to postpone this dismantling and rating of my life
even by a day.
I tell myself again and again
I can bear this
but I don’t think I can.
Every morning I convince myself
that all I do will make sense to them someday.
But will it really?
I do not have one person who believes in me,
in what I am capable of.
How long, how far can I walk
only by the strength of a delusional value and importance
that only I can attribute to myself.
The silence wrapping our words
was not born out of a deed or two.
Or out of lack of love.
We didn’t wake up one day
and began feeling alone.
The day we held hands,
we felt the alienation
that only love can bring.
No great love can
change what we were.
Where the plains of our own
lives and its insecurities met
there we see a crack,
to remind us everyday
that we never fit with each other.