In the orange forest of drowning suns I saw your face in the light going out first. I stood with my empty nets, on a boat, with oars that won’t budge, won’t sail away from your closing eyes. I played this only memory I had of you throughout my journey back. When my feet found a ground to breathe again, you had already grown bigger, sadder, scarier, sorrier presence in my life.
Through my dinner that night, I thought up names you may have had, the people you may have loved, the heartaches you thought would never end. I thought of how easily things end, how nothing in our heart can save our heart from this lonely end. Were you thankful or sad that you had to know this, to share this realization with a stranger made of cold eyes and numb limbs?
That night I looked for your body in every ocean I had in me. I don’t know what was the point of this search but I knew I had to do something about you, that my feet had to walk distances because of you, that something in me must hurt more than it did now. That finally I had to die with you, to know what I don’t know now, to know even a fraction of your pain. I was sad and relieved that my need to know you ended there – with that thought, with the steps I cannot take.
There are universes spinning around us and they will see how we break down. They will not know our names just like we don’t know theirs. And when they come for us falling onto our beautiful blue home, falling into our storming seas and falling heights, we will still believe that this beauty will save us and in some ways it will. In some ways it won’t.
But for today the universe around us inspires us to love, fill our hearts again and again, it cradle us tonight, carries us from one unbearable moment to anohter through the tunnels of serene silence, through the river of light.
If this all is an apology for what is to come, just like the offerings of the sad heart before it broke me once, then maybe we don’t deserve this kindness, maybe we are given, gifted, cared for a bit too much in the name of the eventual end that is waiting for us far ahead.
Are they finally drowning? The sails, the flags, the songs the party, and the expensive backless silks. The rings and guns and blood shining. Always shining. They are finally coming for us. We will again have someone’s face in front of us at least for a while and we will sing songs that they have no choice but to listen to. The cries and shrieks and the stories that we had saved in us will not go waste.
They have not yet seen us rotting feets and feets below them but somethings take time. The water will fill them but they will never grasp the slow violence and its finality. They will look above at the lost sky, they will not know what they are looking for as the concepts of hope and god and saving becomes grayer in their head. They will keep struggling feeling all promises becoming breathless in them and they will miss the point of saying goodbye. We always do.
Darling, they are coming our children, our neighbors, our dear strangers, our ministers, our wood, our sky, our eyes, our new memories. Now we can die together and actually die and not be haunting blue in this green ocean. I missed living dear but I missed them more – everyone, everything taken away from us. We have waited patiently, wishing them life. We have prayed for them to stay away from wherever we are. But now they are coming and I cannot help but selfishly smile at seeing everything coming back to us.
In the rubble with nerves hiding sparks, in the nest of sleeping explosives, again it is you. Again you are here to prove something by doing something unasked for.
You build a place for warm tea, for all our shivering ghosts to haunt. You place the chairs that are not chairs but buckets that cannot hold anything now. There are chairs that are lying around just fine but you want don’t them. You don’t want the old purposes eating away the beauty of all that is left behind.
You console the ones holding onto what is no longer there but you don’t want the ones who want way back to what it was. You ask us questions with your bleeding lips you want us to answer with something real, not just words. “You are cruel”, you laugh when we say that. You make us leave everything we are just so that we can finally sit on empty buckets thinking about the hands we cannot hold, thinking about hands that are no longer hands.
“The city is no longer burning”, you tell us as you place our empty glasses in front of our empty eyes and tell us it is fine if we don’t believe it now. “Sleep. Dream and stay for a while with the molten and bombed, the lost and the dead that still have your heart. Take your time.”
As we lay awake in our heart-wrenching grief, as we lose ourselves to your favorite world of sleep, you stand beside the fire that keeps us alive. You stand beside the fire that is not actually fire but your heart that burns like sun.
We wanted to tell you, “You are kind. You are too beautiful for this world. Have our heart and burn it instead.” But we couldn’t . We knew these things were easy only in words, that these were things we couldn’t do, yet. That we have not smiled and laughed with bleeding lips, helping while being hated. That we were too selfish to be you.
i will read you another story so that you may know that faults and lacks of humans are common and in abundance, how ordinary are expectations-not-met. i will read till my eyes close till you can see all there is to see, till you see everyone around you who are disappearing into silence, till you see all the kind words you could have said to them, till you see that these words, that make you cringe, how important they are how easy they are to say, how difficult to mean till you learn to mean these words that save lives, till you learn to listen to others, till you grow the eyes that can see the world before it is lost.
though there is another story for another day about how to save yourself from all that you have saved.
I find myself trapped between forgiveness and frustration.
How often have I said that I want to be your strength. How easy it was to say it when I didn’t really know you or me.
But now when your breaking and my sadness is of your making I am fumbling for better words-
words that can show my heart that aches for you and because of you,
words that don’t forget or diminish your own hurt while talking about the parts of me that are finally dying after loving you for so long,
words that show my hatred for my brittle self, for my heart that is not big enough for real pain or real forgiveness.
Now I don’t know to talk about saving you, about loving you in spite of the demon you warned me about, the part of you that is stronger than me and you, together or apart.
As I kiss you I hear the other part of you digging playgrounds in rain, erasing you furiously from your skin, coloring each bruise with paint of happiness, clawing me, scaring me, making me scared for you.
As I kiss you I want to stand with you in your nightmare I want you to have someone beside you for once. As I kiss you I want to run far away from your world and forget this love.
As I climb, my steps remembered the shoes I once had the ones that didn’t hurt so much and how hands of mine that hacked through them just to become my own person, some sort of grown-up. I climbed over the yellow soft dress and the light that it caught just to get this, this body that looks held together but is not (this body knows only how to fall apart), just to get few more shadows that ruin my beautiful wrist with their persistent passion. They claw through me, to see how I am made, how I look and speak once I break. A stranger once left me at the bottom of a black pond and called it love just so that I won’t cry and in return I called him my love just for few breaths, just for my life. I climbed over the right to mean the word “love” thereafter and the dream of knowing a heart other than mine. I breathe as if I have sinned yet I walk like I am happiness and determination in flesh. I cling to all the bitter bits of this world as if they would ultimately save me. I climb over, get over, and forget so easily, so bitterly that each feeling of mine is just a shade of resentment.
She just laughed and said “you are not really intelligent, you know that right?” as she packed her bag, making space for her only notebook, with difficulty. I wonder if she really needs all those the things. She is not a careful person, I know that because her list of priorities is horizontal- everything is important, everything is equally dispensable. I hear a song breaking at the bottom of her lungs, when she talks of the new thing that she will love forever when I know she won’t.
She lets me know for my own good “geniuses are not made by effort, love doesn’t happen by hard work, quit swimming and struggling when you are on land.” She takes me by hand, teaching me how to walk, teaching me her pace. Her pace unsettles me. She gives cruel names to my innocent actions as she smiles. She smiles at me while I wait for my forever to end. And only because I hate myself for not wanting to love her sometimes I smile back.
I wonder how far my determination can take us. As she finally boards the train home, after missing out on a few, she says “stop struggling, when i am with you, i know your heart, even when you don’t. it hurts to see you like this, things will eventually fall in their place.” I wonder if she is pushing herself, within the limits of who she is, to save something of us, to save something of me. I wonder how she can love me, if she knows how petty my heart is. And because I do not know the answers to her, I wait for us to fall into the places. I think of her and find it easier, this wait.
Now that we are an year apart. Now that everyone has been talking about new beginnings and second chances, I let myself be myself, let myself be swayed at the hope, at the thought of the ONE.
But being myself also means to be keep my heart broken. It means to leave every crowded room to find the corridors where I can be finally alone with the mistakes I am about to make.
I hold someone who could have been you but is not. I cry the same tears that once made you pity me. I jot down a name and a number and a weakness, a need where I could fit myself into.
And as I lay in bed I feel something sad and beautiful in my heart- an end that I am creating for myself. This is how love has always been for me, so I let it be and smile as I kiss another stranger who won’t be able to save me from anything.
Drop by drop the wax fills the bucket of broken butterflies.
I am falling into another sleep, into another death that is warm, that embraces me like no lover ever has.
I feel the pain in my wings, and unlike other days I try to think that this will never pass. That I will remain like this, with a bit of pain always there in my shoulder blades, under my ribs, aching for a memory that floats above my body, above my existence.
Someone holds my hand and I let them. I was always afraid of living and dying alone. I guess there are many like me.
Years from now they will find us and probably write stories about how we loved each other even in death. As they look at our almost ruined and almost saved faces they won’t know how we died heartbroken, how we held onto each other but never dared to look at each other or ask the names we had started to hate. How our skins melted into each other only because we had nowhere else to be. That even as light broke free from our eyes we didn’t want to look like failure.