Things I now remember are mostly absurdly simple and painful. Like the last time we met like this, you had a white suitcase that seemed like your new pet. It looked at peace with the snow that was getting on your nerves. When you smiled all I could think was now you cannot bear the weight of your old green bag pack, now you cannot bear the winters I am part of. All I could think was that you are growing old somewhere far without me. I didn’t know that the next thing I would have to do, after facing such sad realization, would be to smile for my sake more than your.
Things I now recognize are are only those that I don’t know how to fix anymore. Like today as I helped you out of your heavy white coat, as I made the coffee of your liking I kept staring at your small form and your frightening transparency. I looked at the scribbles of black marker at the corner of suitcase. I wondered where were you when you drew that. At what point of your journey you could no longer pretend this was a life of your choosing? Is your loneliness so overwhelming that you are not afraid of buying and ruining whites? Is your loneliness of my making? Is that why you wear it so dearly?
a broken end with a light (a lighter duller than me) touches me. someone says the magic words, the loathsome words that make me the old alice. i am made to leave the seat, the home, the dream, the rights that are too big for me. they leave me a tiny suitcases filled with fancy dresses made of used socks and handkerchiefs. they are cute, they are kind, they have read their fairy tales right. i have never read the right books, so i find myself unable to thank them or kiss their hands. thumblina says my new belongings in glitter i do not know what this name means or the fate that the owner of this name is meant to find but i have heard it is better than being an alice. (i liked being alice more i liked a story written for my sake.) as i walk into the new forest, towards hopefully my last story or at least a story i can make my own for once, i can’t help but think of all the laughing men, now laughing giants fixing my home to their liking. i can’t help but be a bit bitter looking at my hands that can only build for people like them.
I prod and push the glass slowly, carefully to the edge of the table, where your glass stands. At the edge where you place your suitcase, where you always tie your laces once again just to be sure.
That is the place you tell me to love when you think I might lend something of me to keep such place alive, to keep you warm while you keep the door open like the way the you like them to be.
This is the place you tell me to forget when the color of my skin doesn’t match the color of your new sky, when your new birds keep singing songs of ‘soulmates’ with better specification when it becomes your new caller tune, when you think of the best version of your life. You think of that too often, quite loudly for me to really forget anything.
This is all I remember of you:
“i never thought you were weak enough to need anyone or anything.” “i thought you were wise enough, i thought you were better than your gender.“ “call me. meet me. i am feeling down.“ “call me. meet me. listen to me, no one else does. only you have ever cared.“ “call me. meet me. i want us to end.“ “you are too much for me. you are too little in the eyes of anyone in this world.“ “you are so close to having my fickle demanding unfair love, why do you ruin everything by being yourself. i would have loved you for 2 more years, if you were not messed up.“
When I think of the glasses, of my life, of everything that I dangerously left at the edges just to be your equal, just to make sense of you- I am glad I have claimed back my madness instead of trying to understand yours. I am glad I do not have to live my life compensating for your weakness, calling it love.