There are too many thought on my mind today there is too little love in my heart but my eyes are focused only on you dear my ears hear only your voice. But it doesn’t matter, I know that too.
Knowing is also a sort of poison. It only makes me angry at your smile and your assurances. It doesn’t change the fact that today you live in hurt and tomorrow you may not be with me to get better. It doesn’t change the fact that you won’t let me come close, that you say I have no right to know that part of you.
All that I am allowed to do now is to smile as if I do not see, is to talk of a tomorrow that will never be, think of names we would never get to use, plan a journey we will never begin. This is all we ever did, when we had so much time. This is all we ever did. This is what we will never do. That’s all there is left to it.
You will say that you are fine. I will say “I know”, when I don’t. And I will hate the sight of your pain and I will hate myself for it, as will you. Maybe I will burn this place down if you don’t let me in. Maybe there is no place left to burn, Maybe that’s what you’re hiding. Maybe that’s what you mean.
I didn’t think that I ever wanted to do such a thing. But then it has a sense of it’s own, a logic that keeps changing its shape-
it is wings of warmth, the fire in heart. It is the fire that you want to get away from, the endless trail of ashes that follows you. It is your thought and voice and life spent away only for the sake of a fire to burn even more of you. On some days the fire is too magnificent, too beautiful. On those days I feel it was right, may be the only right in the world, that everything of mine should belong to this light.
Is this how gods are made? Is this how loves are lost? Is this how I create a life that I can’t bear to look at? But can I abandon it all?
You walk in with a cake of rust, two hours late. You kiss me , wait for me to smile, to say thanks, to make another offering of myself at your shrine.
You tell me of love, the only love that you cannot get out of your heart. This love that suffocates you these days more than before. How my face asks for too much, even when my voice doesn’t.
I cross out and mess up the frosting trying to hide the wrong name. These days I don’t correct you, or remind you of who I am, and so you forget me just as I thought you would, just as you promised you wouldn’t.
My half hidden sighs tell me that I am just an appointment, things that have to be done, feel good pill of a the mean god that you are. The clearer I see this the more I want to speak against you, to hold you closer with my rage.
I want to speak of all the facts I have on you- the bitter candies from the assembly line that my minds works overtime overnight, to show you the moments you hated yourself most again and again and again. I am weak like that. I am mean like that. And now I don’t want to be better. I wasn’t like this always but now this all I can be.
I don’t remember or expect a beautiful love, now neither should you.
the broken-hearted know no love for anything or anyone that is not the one breaking their heart. they see through you. even when they say hello they almost get your name wrong, you can tell it from the look in their eyes. they drink and fill every room with songs that were not so hard to bear when they were just noises that radio made. they tell you in their drunken stupor that no one cares.
they say no one cares even when you call the cab, drag them home, hurt your hand in the struggle, scrape more than skin, lose more than patience, leave them on a bed not made for weeks probably, you don’t want to guess or know. so you close the door, climb down the stairs shut down the part of mind reserved for them, but remember how they have been liking and sharing too many dark poems, how those poems speak in their voice in your mind. so you climb back, remove every blade and knife and realize it is just the beginning. you feel exhausted by the inexhaustible list of things that can help end a life, that can serve as a full stop.
so you sleep on the couch or pretend to, till your head hurts from pretending. now that you want something true you call your love and tell him that you don’t know how to handle this, how to sleep and yet keep an eye on the one whom you suspect is waiting, waiting for you to close your eyes for a second to make an exit that doesn’t exist. he tells you that they are beyond hope at the same time he forwards articles that could give you hope. he tells you to sleep tight knowing you won’t.
when you wake up at the sound of tears being microwaved for breakfast, you see another day that won’t be right. you see them trying not to break yet breaking and abandoning everything around them so that their hurt can be felt by the world. they look at you and smile while they pour another glass toasting “another drink for the world that doesn’t care, another drink for the loveless me.”
the broken-hearted know no love for anything or anyone that is not the one breaking their heart.
Spring and love are running around in a circle in my mind. My mind and its gray backdrop die with a soft giggle. The sky rains a gentle voice saying my name on repeat. A voice I pretend not to know rings like a telephone in my room as I stare at it from my bed.
Spring and love are in my life again and all I can do is wait for the world to go back to the time of silence, so I can go back to nursing my weak heart and find something easy to do than love.
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.
I wonder ‘me being right’ at what point of time it became synonymous to finding out that his heart is empty- my name washed out by the waves of the other girl. The girl whom he swore is not his type. “I was right”, I said as my hand trembled with anger and then fear as I waited for the reply, for the apology, a missed call from those whom I should not forgive. But the way my heart is breaking if only they would tell me that they still love me I could have held them close to my chest and thought of them as my family, as the blood that I couldn’t part with. I would have learnt to pretend that I was born with a dagger on my back.
I was right, I understood as I saw few more pictures not meant for my eyes. (these days there are so many things that are not meant for my eyes), as I try to digest the unfamiliar rage in his eyes, as he breaks and breaks and breaks every moment we had When I ask him “if should I stay around? if he’d change his mind?” he tells me he doesn’t know his heart and walks out into the night.
When I switch on the TV I almost expect to find my name in red, my body in red laying on the carpet that he loved but had to ruin for a good cause, for a greater love. This me, my death must be side effect of his love. His love is all that matters now. His love is not our love. Our love is an obstacle to the happiness he can almost reach.
She calls me up again to tell me how to gracefully give up. I hear him behind her, I feel his despair in her voice. (Must be true love.) I hear him hum a song in the background, a song that I have never heard. I hear the ruffle of his clothes that he moved from our life to her home one betrayal at a time. I hear what I don’t want to hear, what I always knew- they don’t want my forgiveness even if I gave it for free, I must mend my life by myself. No past love will do it for me.