If we were to meet somewhere not here. If we are to be someone new, someone different, for the chance of meeting to finally happen. I think happiness, even then, won’t be of any consequence to us.
You and me – we – would find warmth just in the vision of our open arms and tear-stained faces. We would run into each others arms and not utter any other useless promise. We would tell each other without words that we can be fine by just being together.
Yet, we – you and me – will find ourseleves filled with disappointment and sadness and a blooming bitterness filled with light. For the ones who fought and cried and begged and desperately clinged onto the promise of love- this love can exist only without them.
In reaching you, in finding your heart on the other side of mine, it feels that I have just been carrying on the wishes of someone who loved you a bit more, a lot more than me, a lot more than this. The hand we hold as we sleep today, they have held knives. I know the scent of my end on your being. I move in closer to you, trying to remember the me who smiled only for you and you hold me closer trying to waiting for something similar.
The ones who wanted this love have been long been killed. the ones we want are ourselves. “Do you even remember where you have buried me?” I almost said but instead I said soulless words about some love. Hoping to find at least this answer without your help.
As my empty cup for tea came crashing on the floor, I heard another sigh escape me. I turned back from the counter and watched in resignation as the winds mercilessly pushed through the cushions, the magazines, the old discarded phones that made no noise as they came to find death second time.
The curtains and the window frames came apart. The sad smiles, barely visible through the annealed glass, cracked upon and my ancestors fled away, rejoicing for first time in the brokenness of this world. I recalled all the videos I had seen about the land of disasters and the restless hearts that live there. I recalled the reasons that cause such misfortunes, the incomplete distracted television reports. But I didn’t have to think of all that, to know what was happening to me.
The sky was clear and I could hear people walking to festivals and carnivals and towards to unbearable silence of funerals, trying to laugh as much as they can before they get there. I closed my eyes and waited with anxiousness, waited without hopes for love to appear again and make a mess of the life I had spent years to put together.
And if we are to delete, to remove, to erase and whiten the papers that are not a part of our hearts anymore, then hand me the forms you want burned, the words you wish you never heard, and I’ll help you with your share of forgetting, just like how you helped me memorize my own name once.
If we are to walk through the burning towns, that we created with our own hands, which we named after stars, to find something that is not poisoned by our time together, then I’ll do the walking for you.
In a room filled with light I imagine myself breaking apart, it will happen for sure, but it doesn’t pain me yet. But I fear the tears that will find your eyes, the marks of flowing rivers, the civilization of sorrow settling and flourishing on your face, if you were to fall in love with something that is already lost.
I fear your loving nature. I fear your heart to work for the impossible. I fear you might see our past and mistake it for our future. If you try to protect me even in our end, I fear I will be left with no way out.
I find myself trapped between forgiveness and frustration.
How often have I said that I want to be your strength. How easy it was to say it when I didn’t really know you or me.
But now when your breaking and my sadness is of your making I am fumbling for better words-
words that can show my heart that aches for you and because of you,
words that don’t forget or diminish your own hurt while talking about the parts of me that are finally dying after loving you for so long,
words that show my hatred for my brittle self, for my heart that is not big enough for real pain or real forgiveness.
Now I don’t know to talk about saving you, about loving you in spite of the demon you warned me about, the part of you that is stronger than me and you, together or apart.
As I kiss you I hear the other part of you digging playgrounds in rain, erasing you furiously from your skin, coloring each bruise with paint of happiness, clawing me, scaring me, making me scared for you.
As I kiss you I want to stand with you in your nightmare I want you to have someone beside you for once. As I kiss you I want to run far away from your world and forget this love.
We can never move forward, together or alone, if we don’t find the courage in ourselves to look at each other and to say what needs to be said. If we choose silence again we will never know the depth of our blindness or the easy path of love we didn’t take. We will be always walking on the minefield of each other’s words in every lover’s mouth. So tell me I am just a human who just failed at love and I will tell you the same.
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.
i try to sleep, to forget the pain near my spine, to forget all the hours in front of me that i have no use of. i look at my palm from near and from as far as my hands can extend. i notice how my hands have changed. do i like it better now? i wonder if it possible to like anything about my body now. i remember once deciding not to at least hate this skin that has use for everyone but not to me. i remember saying “as long as it makes you happy” at the same time thinking “i don’t think you care for my happiness”. i stop myself from finding more things that make me confused or miserable. i unlock my phone. it’s 8 already- more and more notifications, …5GB extra..Alert:You have spent… …has added a new post…added a new story airplane mode, the notifications continue to pile up in my head- all the words that i will never get to see that i always expected even when i knew i shouldn’t, it has been long……sorry, for making you feel alone… today i saw something and was reminded of you. even though we are not together, it is not your fault… thank you for being there for me……it must have been tough… don’t hurt yourself i feel smaller knowing that even the words i want are only words of consolation, just confirmation that i am not the worst. i look at my hands again and wonder if my hatred for myself colors my skin. is that how everyone gets know that i don’t have the courage to ask for fair, for loyalty, for answers? is that how i look? someone who doesn’t have the voice to ask anything anymore.
When I stand near you, I want to believe that we are standing together. That our hearts being mirror images means something more. Mirror images… ‘Lateral inversion’ they called it, I recall. We feel similar only when facing each other. But when we talk of this world, when we eat from our own broken plates, when we tell each others directions, when we see each other from afar we are nothing but strangers. We are nothing but proofs against each other’s belief. But still I want to believe that there is something I cannot see, some argument in favor of “us”. I want to believe you are my medicine even as my skin cuts and bleeds in your embrace.