When I have gathered enough courage the only piece of metal in me that can still cause harm are only the frustrations I have at my own cowardice. What do I have to lose today, that I couldn’t lose yesterday when I was busy resenting you. After seeing and accepting the wrong that you are, after uncovering every wound, every decaying part of me that I didn’t want to face, after deciding on an end that would still be fair and gentle to your heart, why do I only hold you tighter? Why do I make up lies that only make it easier to make up more lies, make up a world where my hate is just a delusion, where you are the only one worth saving, worth love, worth my misery. And even in that world, why does our love won’t feel like love? Why don’t you feel like mine? Why does my heart feel abandoned when I have chosen to walk into your hands even after knowing my fate.
I think of the clothes that are too tight or too loose for me, of my skin that doesn’t like me the way it used to. How the mirrors in my home are hidden by the growing towers of books. I wonder what this says about me? I think of the fear that I feel when I am alone, the fear that I feel when I walk into happiness. I think of the kinds of fear that fill my heart. I count them for a long time but nothing happens when I finish counting. I wonder if knowing myself is really the first step to solving my life. Do I want anything to be solved? I count the people that who no longer speak to me and half way through I remember that it was me who had thrown them away first. Silence is my weapon, not theirs. I realize I need to always hold a grudge against someone to live with strength. I wonder when this strength became so important to me. I wonder when this love that felt like a lemonade in summer actually became a commercialized product with an expiry date stamped on it before it even reaches our hands. I think of my skin by which I am stuck to a world like this. I wonder why I pretend to be better than this world by saying such stuff? Why am I so into acting all deep and philosophical? I wonder why I love to call myself broken even though I hate to be seen so? Don’t misunderstand me. I do not want answers. Answers are painful and pointless, answers are a tasteless end to the struggle that otherwise makes my heart bleed colors.
I hold my fist close to my heart, I hold your hand tighter than ever. How long has it been since we last saw each other? How long before we meet again? These few hours that separates our periods of separation, these hours have become minutes, have become question marks that we pretend we can’t see, have become the silhouette of the better women of your stories, have become the words I never got to hear. They remind me of your skin that bloomed and withered without knowing my skin. I have told myself numerous times that it doesn’t matter. I have tried my best not to be bothered, but it is becoming more difficult to feel that I am still loved by you. And again you kiss me with caution, hold me close, only to let go. Again all I see is you moving towards something I cannot understand, leaving me in a life that I cannot accept.
I walking around this planet talking about survival as if I actually lived to survive. I didn’t. There are many who do but they are not the ones who are filling the world with papers filled reeking of envy and tears. The ones who are really desperate, who really fear extinction- disappear as they fear without leaving a trace of the hurt that had so engulfed them.
I think I have it better. I know I have it easy. My pain though has become my life long mission it only drinks me up sip by sip, never finishing me in one gulp but to leave me alive and thriving in the illusion that the only one suffering in the world is me. If it does nothing else at least it feeds my ego to think of myself as some lost cause and I think if it was not for this belief in my great suffering, I might have seen my life for what it has always been. Realizing the reality of my life would have been greater tragedy for sure and maybe that’s why I held on so tightly to the illusion that I was already in one.
By the grave of your every love,
I have cried for nights.
For the love they took to their graves
and the life you have lost.
This life that demands me to suffer without hope.
This ocean that I never thought my feet would touch.
The night seem so lonely,
not having someone to
look for me
when I have lost my way
inside the wreck of your life.
Trying to heal the wounds that
you never gave me the right to touch.
The gravestone cries with me.
Like this gravestone,
I mark the life
of the love you lost.