I like the sound of the words rolling around your tongue, an invitation to explore the things we want to keep hidden, and that in itself makes me want to laugh.
Not at you, with you Stardust…how did we get here?
How is it that the one person who preferred to watch National Geographic whilst burning his lungs would want to talk?
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I know it’s rough, I just blurted it out and you shake your head and smile.
You have been smiling more lately.
I like it when you smile, because it means a light’s shining within you.
I wonder, Stardust, why is it that when we talk…we do so in the spaces between the silence of our fears?
I come to you in words, a whisper in the evening when the clouds hover to usher in the dusk.
The sun has not beheld your countenance for two days, and she knows even that is a century…so she shines upon me, summons me out of my hiding to reach out to you.
You once said, “I hate flowers, they’re beautiful one second and dry up the next. If I could find whoever invented vases I would slap some sense into him…they never keep the flowers fresh!”
“How sure are you that it’s a man?” I asked.
“Most of the stupid things we see are invented by men…trust me.”
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So, I pretended to do just that and watched you cloud your pain with anger. Your friends thought you were being a jerk and they called you out on it, until you simply shook your head and said “The old man is dying, prostrate cancer, stage four or something…he wants to see me.”
It was then that they knew.
I am a choice you made Stardust, but the men around you- Mark, Matto, Jim, George and Stano…are your family, the ones who know how much is too much for you, the ones who looked at you and told you to secure the bag when they met me. Yes, I know they pushed you to apologize…Stano can’t keep a secret where chapatis are involved!
It’s been two days Stardust and you are doing what you do best. You are walking into the dark void that’s your pain and no one’s invited, not even me.
There are some trips I can never make for you…and had I something akin to Ariadne’s thread I’d give it to you so you could find your way back to me…and even that would take a while.
You’ve got to want to come back.
You’ve got to want it all…the pain and the pleasure…until then Stardust, I hope my words reach you.
It’s what my eyes behold when I pull out the phone from my bag. This is the third text you’ve sent me today.
You are like an uncomfortable space I inhabit,
I act like I loathe you yet I yearn to be in your presence.
So we have had our back and forth this year Stardust,
Isn’t t amazing that we are compelled to be sweet by timelines drawn by men?
You laugh at this, that easy laugh, I’m home.
Where are you Stardust?
When will you get here?
I know you are like a raging stream, always in a hurry yet ever changing.
Stardust, I want to be angry at you, angry with you, angered by you…is this normal?
You laugh and say, “Love, the Universe knows how much time each living thing has in the space we inhabit, you know, if your time’s up, it is and nothing not even a life-support machine can keep you up and running. See, men are sick.
We truly are because we thought it would be wise to name, label and restrict what the universe gave us…so we have days, dates, seasons and now everybody here is wishing me a merry christmas- and unlike you, I tell them it is a commercial season to get people to spend what they have without a thought…something that should be done every day!
Love, you always say that the part you love about Christmas is the part where you see everyone…and it sucks because we have eleven months to visit people, we have leave days to make at least two trips or set aside a day for this, but no…we wait till christmas to overfeed and overspend. I am getting ahead of myself, I’m just bummed that I never got to come home, to drive down and see you…
I’m a jerk. What are you doing with me? I guess it…no, it hurts, and more so when I know that it’s no excuse because every year I have 365 days, so if all I ever needed was just one day to be with you, then this one day that’s left is a reminder of all the 364 that I had.”
“Have you ever felt scared while on a boat on the lake?” you ask.
It is four o’clock in the evening. I am in bed, trying to regain my composure from the nap I was taking. How is it that you still have my phone number?
How is it that even when I have been miles away from you I can tell exactly what it is that you are doing?
So, I stretch out on the bed, sit up- look at my hair that’s half undone…braids on the right side neatly done, on the left, a chunk of hair to be braided by dawn.
I do not wish to talk Stardust.
I do not wish to welcome or relish the silence we create between your questions and my answers.
It’s been happening…and my mind wanders even as you hold, waiting for a response.
I do not know what scares me Stardust…not anymore.
You sigh, let out another easy laugh and say “I feel like I am drowning every time I think about you. Do not immortalize me Love, I do not deserve it, have you ever wondered how many kids we’d have by now? I mean, if I wasn’t such a jerk, we would have two…maybe a girl who looks like you, and loves me more or a boy, who walked like me…I don’t know, these post on facebook of parents congratulating their toddlers on graduating just got to me. What’s so epic about graduating from kindergarten? It sucks that parents pay thousands to get their kids a good foundation and then they go to public school and suddenly the parents can’t even fork up motivation fee for the teachers, saying that the government offers free primary education, how messed up is that?”
You light a cigarette…I can feel it, miles away.
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I look at the time, walk to the next room to turn on the kettle. A cup of tea could do me good, ease my nerves…and I want to cry Stardust. You don’t know this because you talk about your dreams and I sit on the floor hoping the cold would numb my sorrows.
I want to hold it all in Stardust, because you have turned me into your Therapist, and every time I hear your voice, it’s like I am drowning, so who will save me Stardust when I cannot even save myself from your memories?
Look, I am not asking for much, it would be nice to sit down every evening and enjoy a cup of coffee with a beautiful soul.
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Is this too much to ask?
I know there are wars, chaos and other areas that you may be heeding their call right now, and that’s alright, please protect the children…for I know what it’s like trying to undo hate or a thirst for vengeance instilled in one as a child, it’s painful.
I was sitting here, sipping my coffee and watching the latest episode of Red Table Talk when I thought I’d reach out to you.
A warm heart, a gentle soul, one who is love…
I thought, what would it be like to enjoy a warm cup of coffee with a beautiful soul once in a while
Then I thought of the conversations I’ve had with friends, my Mom, my Sisters and a bit of warmth filled this empty house and suddenly, I heard you ask, “May I take your order please?”
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.
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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.
Oh, you who chose to stay when everyone including me, left.
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How is it that you smile given what you’ve been through?
How is it that in your scars dwell more light than in mine?
How is it that you who has been shattered dare comfort me, without hurting me?
How?
You smile, oh, Beauty, and say…”I have been through it all, will still endure some more, but the one place I’ve learned to make habitable is my home. I carry my essence, my being, everywhere I go, so no matter what comes my way…I’m always home.”
You once asked me “would you keep a secret from me?”
I answered, “yes, I would…everyone reserves the right to hold back some things even from themselves, isn’t that why the unconscious mind seems to unravel mysteries or depths we never thought we had?”
You laughed but I could see the war waging inside of you because like me, you go from zero to one hundred in a flash. I never cared to know why or ease your mind.
I should have.
I came across a shirt…a piece of clothing I once borrowed from you because I love my shirts as baggy as they can be, and my jeans…well, I never knew I dropped two sizes until I got a pair of skinny jeans.
So, here I am, wearing this shirt…unraveling every conversation we ever had and smiling as I drink my second cup of tea tonight. You had me undone, while I was a mystery even unto myself, to you…I was a puzzle and could easily be solved.
So, here I am, wearing this shirt…unraveling every conversation we should have had and smiling as I drink my second cup of tea tonight. You had me. Now, a part of me holds onto the only piece that still remembers you like you are right here, and it is telling me that I am okay, that I am alright…that I cannot keep my hurt hidden.
So, here I am, Stardust, saying thank you because in this lifetime…I still can’t believe how come I never got you to drink coffee!
Not at your wounded heart, neither your pleas nor touch would make me reconsider.
I refuse to travel back to the point where you wounded me.
Stardust, how is it that we orbit each other only to wound ourselves?
How is it that you who knows me all too well can break me when I am whole?
How is it that when I decide to leave, you draw me back?
I refuse to look back Stardust.
So, we stare at each other…I am seated directly opposite you and she is somewhere in the next room doing her best to locate her clothes.
I like her.
She’s got a warm body, beautiful smile and more so because just like me, she fell for your charms. The difference is that she let you trail your hands over her body…while I struggle to let you linger…a touch is like a prick, and you often say “these miles you’ve set between us will one day set us apart.”
I have asked her to stay. She’s not at fault. She’s as shocked and worried as you are, because she does not understand how you would drop her like hot coal for someone who is just a friend.
Stardust, you deserve the world. I lay it your feet. You win.
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How then is it that I ought to come to you as ‘yours’ when you relish everyone else? Oh, how the world is your buffet and us minions but snippets of delicacies that you may or may not relish.
I refuse to look back Stardust, so now we are at an impasse- my feet folded beneath me on this couch, my eyes, an ocean of hurt and your soul, gone…
I refuse to look back Stardust because I know in doing so, my heart may blossom at the moments you made it soar and it may just ask me to stay.
Do not ask me to stay.
Release me Stardust…I deserve the world, so curl your feet, let me pick it up and walk into the light.
nilichoandika 