You know, there's a song in my playlist, that's stayed there for years now. It's the song I skip all the time, and tell myself - not today, just not today. My thumb hovers over the play button as my mind whispers "Don't go there, not again", I clutch my fist in dismay and lay back on the pillow.
A few white threads on the sheet take me back to a distant memory. "Why won't you look me in the eye, hey, are you blushing? Your cheeks look flushed!" "I'm certainly far from blu-- " I burst into giggles. "Stop playing with those threads, look at me, will you?" "I'm going to close my eyes and play a song, lie down with me, and listen, and maybe, just maybe, I'd look into your eyes."
My phone vibrated on my palm and I suddenly sat up to realise that my face had gone warm from a couple of tears sliding down my cheek. I wiped them with my hand, without paying much heed to the all the itch on my arm from all that silver I run on it.
I lay back and repeat your words in my mind, whilst I absent mindedly scratch my arm. Of all that was said and done, my mind would usually go back to why you caused the damage you did. But today, I wanted you to overburden me with all that you could.
You remind me of that song, because you make me feel the need to walk past you and look past you. You make me feel weak in the bones. My heart has never felt more compelled than what you make it feel for forcing my body to zone out, lest I hear you.
I am cursed with a heart like this, so I'll look away in silence, whilst I pretend that my heart is not heavy and my cup is not full.
Mistaken are those who tell you that people take away a part of you when they leave. That those who never return become the forever missing pieces of your jigsaw. If anything, it's the other way round. People only add to it. They enter your life, disrupt the equilibrium and when they no longer fit, they give up and leave. They leave you with scents and dents. Habits and impressions. Songs attached to memories and words that become your poetry. All clinging incongruously to your existence. And very often, they forget to look back and clear up the mess they've left behind.
Let's say, for instance, you. When you walked away, you left me with layers over my reality and tattoos to hide my scars. Masks over my face and a wall around my heart. But you took away nothing that could deprive me of myself. I still love the freshly baked pineapple cookies and still think ice creams taste the best at 3°C. I'm still the hopeless romantic who simultaneously loves murder mysteries. And most of all, I still believe in fairytales. So, you see, you took away nothing that could make me any less of me. And yet, I'm not the girl I used to be.
And some of your stories will end in a way that you won't get to pour your drunken heart out to strangers narrating why it ended without beginning. The subjects will walk away leaving behind shards of their fragrance with you trying to clutch onto them with all your might. You won't get to flip the pages of their journals and wonder why was your name lost among a sea of others. You won't have a sad letter on your bedstand to read under the lamplight with a cup of hot coffee. And most of all, You won't get to weep over the indifference of your characters. They will end and that's about it. You see, not all goodbyes are dead ends. But, they're ends anyway. Sometimes, of stories and sometimes, of a part of you.
When I talk about being depressed i never mean suicidal When I sit on heights I'm not there to jump But to feel what comes after this by not facing it actually I once heard cold breeze Whispering in my ears 'there's no heaven' And the only thing that scares me the most Is future, in life, after death. My mother screams at me for leaning too much against the balcony, I'm not trying to fall But I'm not scared of falling I want to believe that there's A better place than this planet As I lean a little more Life is behind my back And freedom is at the front To choose is to die, anyway Slowly or suddenly. ~rhapsodist
Have you ever seen Dracula by your own eyes! His red blood eyes, a vampire with milky white skin. His teeth are beautiful and abnormal. Have you ever wondered infront of the mirror that what's the difference. Is it only the length of the overgrown tooth. Or is it the skin color. Yet something inside is still same. It's beneath the skin hidden in the mid-chest of yours. It's the urge to rebel.
Everytime you have a bottle of beer to gulp up. Why you hide it under the table! Why didn't you leave it there on the table. Like everyone else. You should've tried it once. You should've tried to be normal.
Did you cook every meal of yours without a overburnt stain on the vegetables. Why didn't you try to peel it off it's skin. Maybe the taste would still convey the carelessness but still no body could've seen it from above.
You confine into the shadows and shy from the crowd. Yet you always showed the different colors of your sweat in the public. You must learn to be sublime. You must learn to hide.