This moment of you wrapping your heart, your warm sound around my existence, around this body that will sooner or later yearn for you even when it lies buried in soil. This moment is all I want to be made up of. This heart of mine races and stops and tears itself down only for you and I would not have it any other way. This world where my shadow gets to rest with you is my only heaven, is my only home.
Their torn ends, their disappearing body, the plastic wings at the corner of the shallow pockets (that were actually good for nothing) now look like a teardrop determined to stand till the very end. Isn’t it all so ridiculous, laughable, and sad? The blue that never dies – doesn’t it fill you with anger at the unfair paces each component of this world moves? The half alive part of everything cursing the other broken half for taking them down as well. Isn’t it a bit too noisy here to miss or accept anything?
(Or am I the only one?)
All the treasures are now at the pawn shops, and the bottom shelves of the rooms and houses, countries, and identities abandoned, in the words that belong to pseudo names and ‘anonymous’, in the trash cans of people who swear never to love you again. They lie deleted and dumped under the bridges whose shadow rubs your back as you try to vomit out the leftover love eating your heart.
While everything to be thrown away is always there in the cupboard, in the handbags, on the sofa, in your phone talking up extra space, waiting for you to forget them, get fed up of them, waiting for you to throw them away, so that they can haunt you, so they can be your another true love. Till they are your sole teardrop when it all ends.
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.
the green pastures the white fences the perfect fake loving gaze the debts of kindness the half that never completes itself for once the ornamental lackings of my being the personal sun, the privilege to look away and never know the heart of one who can’t the greed such that I can’t stop receiving the ideals that I can live without, ideals that are already falling short to accommodate my monstrous growth, my falls from grace,
All these, everything that I say I don’t need is also all that I cannot give back.
It is easier for me to live, to be kind, to understand, to love with a life of hypocrisy, with a guilt weighing down my heart, with the smile that I can get only because the world is unfair.
It is easier for me to smile at the knife stuck in my back. It is easier to forgive when I cannot forget my own blood stained hands, my own reckless selfish heart.
On most days I desperately want to believe that everyone else are humans, just like me.
I write it down in cursive, under the shadow of my incomprehensible muttering- “they are not as bad as they seem. you are not as bad as you think.”
I wrote it again and again knowing I would never believe it anyway.
But I continued to write these lies because I still wanted to make an effort. Because I hated everything I could see, the reality that shouldn’t be, things that needn’t be this bad, this life where lies were the happiest part.
You told me of love and what it does to your heart and how your heart wants to see me and love me alone. But it is too hard. A harder task than you imagined it to be.
You loved me for my silence, for my grace of letting you go, and for the tears in my eyes always, only for you.
You stand outside my heart, filling my insides with your shadows, with your hopes. Becoming my only light. Asking me to step out of myself, asking me if I am up for another search of your heart- that you have left behind in someone else’s heart tonight.
You kiss my hand and tell me you like this better- me being your hope, your home rather than being your wretched love- the love that that leads you to your worst face.
I close my eyes and again I try to forget what I wanted you to be, what I hoped you would be for me. I try to forget the wretched love you have become.
the one thing i can’t be is honest. though there are many other adjectives that stare at me from their balconies at midnight as i walk and crawl through the dirt road, through the pool of lights, crying and shouting and breaking dreams in every home that i pass by. i hear them shaking their heads with disapproval and hopelessness. i look at their hazy shadows and try to hate them in equal measures but i don’t because they are so easy to forget. but this honesty, this honesty that people expect vexes me. this expectation makes me want to hide, run, run over their hearts all because it is so simple. all because the ones who ask me of this through their tears are not mere observers but are the ones struggling to stay close to me fighting the unnecessary sandstorm i create everyday. they are the ones who deserve honesty. they are the ones i don’t deserve. but my dishonesty is not only for this world. it is the only thing i can offer to myself as well. so again, i wake up in their arms with another lie ready on my lips. i hug them with with my true love and my false heart. i don’t try to make it right when they are in shambles again because there is no fancy way to put it, there is no beauty in what i do, there is no promise i would keep. there are only people who i leave. even when i can’t bear to miss one more person again.
she traced the light on my chest pulled out everything that stung- the swings, my feet, the shadow i decided no longer to play with.
the comparision table of veins and arteries copied into my notebook. the eraser and pencil that helped me document in those tables my lackings compared to everyone else.
a page torn, and then another, and then another. pages that learnt immortality by choosing my heart as home.
she stayed up nights trying to free me as i stuggled and begged not to empty me. she smiled and said the words she didn’t mean, words that i wanted to hear from someone, anyone.
so i slept because she couldn’t be stopped. “leave me alone” now hurt me more than her. i opened my eyes and cried for her work was done, now i was no one, now nothing was mine, not even my pain, not even her.
she dusted her cobweb skirt, placed a kiss on my forehead and told me to breathe, breathe in everything that i didn’t think i had the right to.
she told me to breathe and to never forget what suffocation felt like. it helps in becoming kind, she said.
as she wiped clean her traces from my life, i felt better, again i was full. i was full of her, of this love that won’t work out. being full of her, i refused to breathe, because i wanted to keep it that way.
The wind is picking up. The white sand unlike water sinks everything too slowly. And so the shade less trees of eucalyptus become shadows that I learn to love. They become compass that knows no direction, but just piece this world to hold, the silent assurance that I am not yet lost, though my eyes can’t tell.
The wind is picking up. In the middle of this small storm, my careful hands writing the date on black board suddenly realize the need to be held. And so I fold and create a crease on another part of my face- the part that shows my heart too easily. Someone yells out my name and unknowingly they moor me to another violence, another need that I don’t want to carry in me.