“even if i loved it was all in vain and if i couldn’t be loved what good was i anyway“ i utter such atrocities hoping no one takes me seriously yet hoping someone would cry. i can’t tell from here if i have broken anyone yet. there is only blindness where i stand. there is only light where i am allowed to be. the lights stay on me. the shadow of curtains comes down on the momentary truth that hangs at my lips.
i wake up and read about the dream i sold looking for the cracks i made but all i got was “pain looks good on her“. i wonder if i am really that beyond hope. my blood shines and my tears have wings. my brokenness isn’t broken enough. even in my honest moments i only seem make pain more beautiful. to be cared for, to be tended to could it ever happen to me, should i even try. to speak truth as truth i wonder how that feels like.
With my back to the my cold family name the metallic alphabets printing hard on my clothes, I stand with my feet half out of my pretty shoes – with my painted nails still hidden in the skin of another animal, my hands revolving the beautiful replica of Saturn around the plastic heart on my elaborate key chain- a stage of its own. I stand and wait for you to open your door on the floor above. I hear a faint click, a phone ring, footsteps running away from the world (why do I feel such sadness when I hear that?), a door left open (to everyone but me) I sit in the middle of my living room floor staring up, at the underside- the creeping mold of the stage where I played your lover, your nemesis. It is cruel and incomprehensible that we can still live, take calls, make jokes, eat, and still have the want to live. After hurting ourselves and the world for the sake of love, after all that, is this is it? When you find your room, your world without me which direction does your heart turn towards? Do forget from time to time that we are supposed to forget each other? When I find my loneliness becoming greater than me, when it starts spilling out of me on dinner table, when it makes me lose my mind, am I allowed to let go of you? Is this what this distance, this decision means? I hear your window open, I hear your excited voice (why do I feel color of anger filling me again?). I wonder if you have really found your new life or is this an act you have put for my benefit? Your kindness could only be in my head, as was your love. TV drowns your voice again and I thank all the accidents, all the things out of my control, everything that moves us away from each other. Otherwise, I never could.
Ages ago, I did a course of 48 hours on saving people (as if saving was that easy). There were lots of questions, none that I could answer truthfully. I sat through confessions, lot of confessions. I sat there distancing myself from everything I had the potential to be- the one who clutched her handkerchief too tight, the one whose gaze seems like a hammer, itching to crush and break. And like the pathetic person I am, I only thought “Where should I run to now?”
I would return to a sad room to sleep (thank god it was never to be my home), I would wake up and find myself staring at slideshows that I tried hard not to see or find myself cooking up stories of life that won’t put me on that stage, won’t sound like a cry.
“Is this how this saving business would continue to be?”, I wondered as I left those 48 hours behind. “Is this all I can do?”, I asked myself as I finally wept for hours.