“How is it that you are still single?” you ask.
It’s the first time we’ve faced each other and my heart’s on my sleeve, my soul frozen in a moment long gone. I do not want this. You can feel it, the tension, the angst, the shards of glass you’re standing on…yet you continue, like it’s a cigarette, once lit, it’s gotta be smoked.
You take a long drag. I fold my knees to my chest. It’s raining outside, the kettle stopped a while ago, I’ll probably spend another evening in the dark. You stretch your hand, try to grasp as many drops of rain…and then shake them off.
I do not want this.
“You are not here, Love. I know, but I had to see you. I know…no, I don’t, and truth is no matter how hard I try, I cannot shake it off. It’s like there is a part of me that is missing and when I couldn’t take it, I just got on the bus and came here. This is a nice cosy place you have.”
I do not want this.
You shrug your shoulders and continue, “You remind me of Howard Roark. I never wanted to read that book, but you insisted, remember? I cannot shake how symmetrical the author described him, but it’s not just his sheer will or pursuit of his life, it’s how he refused to be conquered. You have refused to be conquered Love, and that scares me…it scares me how you can choose to remove yourself from a situation without a trace of emotion.
How you bleed but there is not one sign of your pain reflected to the world. See, to know you, I have to look for you in between the lines you post on your blog, how sick is that? Even then, I can never truly say that it is truly who you are, you choose which side to show and to whom and for how long…that scares me. So, yesterday, the guys and I were hanging out and Marto asks me, ‘what happened?’ and I couldn’t speak. I knew what to say ‘I messed up,’ but even those three words could not come out of my mouth. I want answers Love, but the questions are not yours to answer and yet I demand them from you, how selfish is that? How is it that I wound you but I am the one who never heals? Look, are you happy here? Have you met someone? Is he good to you? Are you happy? I just need to know, maybe then…I’ll stop going round in circles, killing my lungs hoping to smoke your existence away. I did not come here to give a speech…maybe if I wrote you all this, you would remember every word. Then…you always do, I may even read it on your blog, you are great with words, but greater with pain and I’ve caused you so much pain that in so doing I have wounded myself. I do not want this life Love. I guess, I am sick and tired of paying bills, watching everyone I know have someone to call their own while I let mine go. You don’t have to say anything…you shouldn’t.”
“The lights are back, can I make you some tea or coffee?” I ask…and you shake your head and as my feet touch the floor, I see it…glistening on your cheeks and I know it, because I have been there, not once, not twice, not thrice but seven times Stardust…seven because to count the eighth would be to admit that I let you choose the value you placed upon me.
I walk to the next room, turn the kettle on and stare outside the window. The neighbor’s brown cat saunters into her house, drenched.
I can hear you…and even though my soul is torn, my heart knows not to show mercy, I guess this is what it feels like to be broken.
What I can promise you is that you’ll never die, I guess like every good thing, you’ll live on in my words. You’ll find yourself in between lines on every post I write, because you’re on your way to healing and I will not interfere with your wholeness…for you’ve learned that when you wound the ones you love, you are not spared the pain…this is my testament of love.