“I had it when I didn’t need it, when I wasn’t ready to face my own needing, cause my feelings for the delicate and genuine seemed hateful to me”,
out of everything that I tried not to know, you are the one most precious to me. Mostly it is because I didn’t really look at you so I have only these regrets to measure what you were.
And my regrets grow heavier with every encounter I have with this world that is filled with people like me. My regrets grow heavier even though I was so well suited, so ready to live and thrive in this real world, where you were destined to fail and wither and lose all that false light your prized.
My regrets grow heavier, the more I realize how much this world needs you and your friends, with your false beautiful ideals sewed on your skins. You would laugh if I told you about the people I meet everyday, people like me who can’t come in terms with the world they have chosen. I face their expecting eyes, I feel their hands searching in me for a glimpse of the world they have burnt. But maybe because it is you, you won’t laugh at it. Maybe you’d cry, cry in our stead, cry for all that we cannot cry for.
When they search for miracles in me I feel like a house with hidden doors and floors with bodies holding goodness lying breathless within. I fear when they find you behind every door- a miracle with your face, an end with your smile- then even these regrets won’t be mine.
So I try to be of use to them all the time hoping that they find the face of kindness only they know of, only they miss, the one only they want back. So that at least our mad hopes, will remain our own till the end. So that we gain nothing but remember everything and that remembering makes our hands, our hearts soft and breakable and beautiful like yours, like everyone else like you who did a world a favor by just existing.
Once she had a bite of my fate she became a restless ghost. She looked like all my ugly wishes staring back at me but she had a beautiful smile so it was more bearable to my eyes than to wear my own desperate words on my unsightly lips. She looked out of place, but in a good way as if she was the invitation to some place where my light won’t die. Even in her voice it was my own words that asked me to leave, that told me to love for the last time. As my shrieks danced in the empty corridors she planted a seed of eucalyptus in my palm, she covered my hand with hers, and covered our hands in dirt. She told me how, for years, only the smell of eucalyptus could calm her mind, it made her believe that there was a gentle cure to every disease that hurt her heart. As she spoke such words that were not extraordinarily sad I felt my spine become soft. I dreamt of her leaning against my back relieved of her every pain and maybe it was the only beautiful wish that has ever been born from my heart. Once I touched the shadow of her heart I grew and bloomed and learnt to be the one who waits, heals, loves, and breaks without bounds.
As my teacher with broken voice dictated another question on radius and heights and the mountains where no snow, no season, no name sticks; I turned another page and wrote the name of an emperor who died even though he believed he won’t. I smiled and tried to correct the very very wrong spelling of a national political party that my friend wrote. It doesn’t matter she said, when I couldn’t figure out what was exactly wrong with it. At lunch, she leaned against the wrong window, the one with fresh coat of blue paint, and told me a joke which she memorized only to remember it wrong. I again gave her the laugh that meant nothing in particular. But I knew she loved it when I reacted like this- as if she is forcing a laughter out of my silent sombre heart, as if she is wining over me all my resistance. But I was nothing like that. I was nothing like she thought me to be. My heart was already open. She was already inside me- writing melodies with her soft steps beside me, painting summer sun over every window I looked out of. But these are things that need no telling, there are my treasures I won’t allow her to take back, these are the answer she will never realize. I hand in another assignment, another answer sheet that looks too little like me, that raises the eyebrows of people who realize they couldn’t teach me a thing right. I walk back to my seat wondering if my shirt is tainted red with my love like her back is filled with butterflies of blue.
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.
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.
The dead world lives through her. Her escape is a door left open for the violence to spread, or so she always believed. When she saw someone who reminded her of love, saw that the fragile bird of happiness would choose sit by her window and wait for her to sing back, when all that could make her feel safe and somehow better smiled at her and asked her name. She would remember how from her skin and her mind grew trees of fear every night. The flood that has left her land loomed above this forest. Anytime the cloud would burst, the past would burst through her smile, and all would be lost. Today, tomorrow, day after, on an afternoon when she would forget about it all, on a beautiful day like that she knows she will find sorrow again. So she stays quiet and writes a softer tragedy of a girl who could never tell her name to anyone who chose her hoping for happiness.
my heaven would have flowers in blue, a storm of sunshine, a road that runs like the soft song that you once made me hear, a sparrow that never stays still.
obviously i do not know what it would be like to live in such a heaven. whether i would really be at peace there. but through the walls of stone that i could never scale it looked so beautiful- the world that you lived in.
but i cannot break what i am nor can i chase away the shadows that i depend on it is too late for that. so before i close my eyes for the last time let me hold you close. become my last memory, become my heaven.
as i get inside the crowded bus, a phone rings. a ringtone just like yours.
has the world shrunk to the size of the tragedy we created, that i find you like this?
i know it is not you, but it could be. so i do not turn back. it could be you, so i try not to cry.
this is not where walking away or breaking clean should lead to. at least not back to you. at least not like this. not on the day i finally felt that i could move toward a new happiness.
why did you come back? to tell me how i am not worthy of anything good? to tell me no one can love something like me? to tell me how thinking is unhealthy for love like ours? to check if my skin remembers your anger? to tell me to speak softly, to submit to your wishes if i wish to be forgiven for your mistakes?
why did you come back, when you don’t even want me?
There is a wall of flowers before her. She looks at it as if they are a softer kind of firework, a firework in reverse, the colors leaving the petals, crawling deep into itself, leaving the color of the inevitable sad ending that Nature always ends up falling for, after a series of boys who lied to her about a forever in their mellow green kisses.
A lesson on subtraction for a girl trying to learn about the reasons and the ways a void like hers is created.