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.
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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?
You ask…four words, yet upon them hang the weight of a memory, a single occurrence, a thought.
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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.
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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?”
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.
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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.”
I come to you like a field of never ending scent that assails your nostrils.
You wander to worlds beyond whenever you behold my countenance.
It’s how you utter these words, like they’re the air you breathe…
It’s how you utter gold and act like dust that astounds me.
One hails from the other, but it’s value is placed higher than that which it hails from.
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I am Lavender, you say…
You want to soak me up, to relish in the presence I offer,
You want to devour me, as much as you can, for though I am Lavender,
I am the wind, I slip through your fingers even when you were unaware of my presence.
So, you churn these thoughts in your mind,
You say and do as you please,
You love and have as much as you can and flee,
Never staying long enough to receive the love you’d given.
It’s you that’s Lavender, it’s you that fills up a room with your scent and leave long before it fills up our nostrils.
It’s you that flees, a gentle breeze like the wind, a benign thought…a soul wandering the realms of this earth, unaware of how much love he’d get if only he stood still.
Years and years before the inception of the alphabet,
These people traveled the skies,
Soared on earth and relished worlds,
“How did they do this?” I asked.
“How did they know where to go without a map?”
“Oh…you silly child,” she said, “they knew because their souls knew where to turn left, right, where to catch a breath, where to lay down their heads and where to sprint.”
“How come?” I asked.
“Well, nowadays you have all these maps, all these signs leading you everywhere but nowhere. You are lost because you do not chart your own path…you strive to be like everyone else and what a sad life you lead…you take pictures to show strangers that you are happy, yet your own soul is unknown to you…all these maps…”
nilichoandika 