The words are brittle the ones they ask me to eat. I was told this is how you forget but it really doesn’t work. It always leaves a mark on me, claiming a bit more of me. My throat would have shined, would have dazzled the world, if they could see the shards of glasses that are stuck inside, that decorate my wind pipe. Only I know how my voice and my hunger makes its way out of this maze. Like the thief in the movies avoiding the lines of red, I move within my body slowly, carefully, afraid if what I might encounter next. Next to this fear… words and speaking and performing in front of this world seems easiest part of existing. My words pushed out into the world are always wounded and broken. And they lie on the ground, in the hands that feel strange, already losing half of their bodies, their meaning already taking its last breath.
To speak is to see myself die in the hands of other and yet be spared, only to live a bit more, only to utter the next word.
Another piece of glass added to my collection. Another drop of blood shimmering at its end.
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 ourselves 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.
i read this on a torn sheet of paper that was lying, waiting (possibly for me?) in that empty hall, that on a normal day has never known empty. and being who i am, this again had to be an easy answer from a higher power. being who i was i believed that the confusion in my mind rocked every throne in heaven. so again i assumed as i said i never would, that these must be the words that could solve me. never mind the context, never mind the book or it’s title. there is so much missing and this paper still remains it might mean something, it must mean something, everything had to mean something for me to somehow go on. it said “your desire would burn away, the moment you let it have your words” so i uttered your name with the place you have in my heart. i mustered up enough courage to speak of the place i wanted in you. it sounded dubious and shallow. it sounded so much like me that i thanked myself for not saying it to you. i made a clean tear through that piece of paper for being too right and being too wrong and walked away wanting now to become a better vessel, the person on whose lips these words would really sound the way they felt i walked away waiting for my mind and your heart to become good enough for those feelings.
you utter this word so often with a sadness that sounds bigger than this word, bigger that whatever it may have given you at one time.
is this the sadness that you are trying to burn away? does it hurt when it also burns a part of you as well, turning whatever is left into charred surface?
is it convenient ? to have a heart that looks nothing like it. to mute her voice just to keep her face in your mind. to feel her lips, her words in your every kiss. to freeze yourself with a love that won’t breathe anymore.
I came here knowing that you would be here as well, knowing that you won’t like to see me here or anywhere. But I have been always good at not seeing the truth. So as I put on the dress I wore when I first met you I told myself – if you hate me, resent me for showing up, it is because you have not forgotten me yet; if you avoid me it is because you know you would love me again.
The distance has dulled all the pain that I felt with you and I prepare myself to dive again into the turmoil, the feelings that result from seeking you out again.
But as I enter this room this crowd that knows our history can’t decide whether to get us closer or to keep us apart. No one says your name around me, even though you are in front of me and I wonder, how long it has been since you have heard my name as well.
I have taken a step and now I have to wait for you to take the next. Would it have been easier for me if you could just utter the word ‘end’, instead of avoiding me like this. As the hour I have allowed myself to be shameless ends, as I wonder how will I ever make my way out of this world of yours, I feel the air beside me shift I feel the old me waking up in myself again. But it is not you. You have already left. I realize the end I could never imagined exists, that a ‘you’ without me exists. That I must find a new way to exist now.
You are a thorn in my heart
that only hurts, that only digs deeper
when in rare moments
I find my way to doors in my life
that can’t be opened now
and I stand helplessly in front of you
whom I no longer love.
When you utter the same words
but they sound different
and I realize that I have never been around
to notice this change.
We may walk in a present
disconnected from our feelings in past.
We are nothing to each other now.
Your sorrows are no longer due to my mistakes
and I feel nothing but relief for that.
an unfulfilled dream breathes in me
refusing to die,
for it is happy to have you around.
They both grew so distant
and they both grew so small,
that the sky and the sea
came breaking on them
with reasons to be alive
and fear to die.
And all the words they said,
all the promises they made
were not to each other
but to their own life.
“Regret” was a word
they had uttered whole life,
but now they knew
what it really was.
As I purse my lips,
trying to push back words
that I am afraid are the wrong ones.
stand in awe,
of those gentle souls
who heal so many hearts.
While I fail
to utter any words,
what might break them.