The ones that make you smile, that make you say “I’m fine,” when you are not.
I know a couple of things about you,
The kind of things I wish I never knew,
Like how you smile in between kisses,
Like how you cannot part with a cigarette, not even to share a puff with a stranger.
Like how you wish your Mother stayed a little longer, loved you a little harder,
Like how you see the world in numbers, and yes, you can multiply complex numbers without using a calculator.
pexels.com
I know a couple of things about you,
The kind of things we wish the world never knew,
Like how many times you’ve wounded me,
Like how easy it is for you to find warmth in another, yet your heart beats only for me…
An addiction for the feminine body is what you called it,
Stardust, how easy it is for you to self-destruct, my love.
I know a couple of things about you,
The kind of things that only my soul can speak of, a galaxy of its own, an ember unknown.
I know a couple of things about you Stardust and I won’t wait for my being to define it, so I’ll leave this here…another breadcrumb which I hope you’ll nibble on as you make your way home.
“What should I get you this Christmas?” you ask, and in between puffs, I compose myself. I collect my thoughts and sort them out as one would rice.
Lately, I seem to stumble upon my words, as I gaze into your eyes.
It must be the haircut.
Or is it that you seem vibrant, radiating an aura of sheer joy…or content, I don’t know. I never know how long your bliss lasts. I’ve never cared much about prolonging them.
“Get me whatever you decide upon, I’m not so big on Christmas,” and I lie back, my eyes roaming the ceiling as you puff your thoughts away…how is it that you take a long drag when you are afraid of speaking your mind? I keep my eyes on you and you smile.
unsplash.com
“You have a certain power over me and you act like you don’t know you do, and that smile right there, that one…where your right cheek bulges and your eyes twinkle, it’s the best look you can ever wear.”
“What’s on your mind?”
“I don’t know, maybe I do, but sometimes like right before you looked my way I was thinking, why is it that hearts can break in more than one way yet they have to heal in the same way?”
“And…”
“You know what I am talking about Love, you may smile now, laugh now, or better yet, talk to me now, yet there are times when a slice of pain brushes your heart and I get a glimpse of it in your eyes, that stuff scares me. To know that I did that…is it worth it love, being here and now, back in my arms, is it worth it? Can I get you flowers for Christmas?”
I look into your eyes and instead of the black pool I always get engulfed in, I find myself thinking of yellow flowers and my head throbs…this is how I’ve learned to stay, apologies, moments where you’re remorseful and unlike you, I devour pain.
I let the hurt simmer and serve it chilled in words.
How is that we take one step forward and galaxies back, Stardust, did you know that a cage is still a cage, it matters not whether it’s in gentle hands or not.
I look at you and to stop the throbbing in my head say, “I want you to hold my hand this Christmas…” you smile and before I know it, I am in your arms, right where I should have been before you started all this talk of Christmas.
I don’t know what to make of these thoughts, that stir my mind, set it ablaze you’d say.
For a soul so unknown, you love fire, like the air you breathe.
It will be ten o’clock in fifty-eight minutes.
I’ve had a cup of tea for supper and you are probably watching National Geographic, stretched out like a big cat on that brown couch you have.
You’ve had a cigarette for supper, but you will fix yourself something to eat, because you know how to whip up a meal when you’re motivated, and nothing motivates you like hunger.
I keep talking to myself, my words bounce back to me, these four walls know more about my emotions than I do.
So, I’ll write you another letter before I go to bed tonight.
And it will be something like this, “Dear Stardust…silence.”
“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.
unsplash.com
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?
You ask…four words, yet upon them hang the weight of a memory, a single occurrence, a thought.
pexels.com
I do what I do best…I smile and shrug my shoulders and look away.
We’ve been here Stardust.
You seek atonement, I seek freedom.
Release me Stardust, and, you may just find yourself.
The waiter sets a glass of milkshake before me and a cup of black coffee before you.
How is it that you stir your coffee anti-clockwise?
I am here Stardust. I see you and I love this new found space, this new understanding of how flawed you are and that you are embracing every bit of it.
You are wounded Stardust.
I do not care, not particularly. I am astounded at how you choose to beat yourself up for being human…so I am not angry anymore, anger is expensive.
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.
pexels.com
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?”
I could call you a beauty, and you would shrug it off, for the world has taught you that ‘beauty’ subscribes to the feminine.
I could call you a gem, and you would shrug it off, for the world has taught you that ‘gem’ subscribes to anything that will get you feminine appreciation.
You, son of man, are a thing to behold.
In you lies beauty, gems and abundance.
In you lies greatness, conviction and chaos…for light and dark are solid.
So, I lie here, watching the rise and fall of your chest…counting days, moments, memories unknown to you.
If I were good with a pencil, I’d sketch you,
I’d curve you using this piece of lead, emboss you on a piece of paper, show you off on a wall, for the world to see.
I do what I can with words, so you reside in them.
You, son of man are a thing to behold, and when you rise to get yourself a glass of water, I see it, the weight of the world on your shoulders, running down your back like The Nile.
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.
pexels.com
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.
nilichoandika 