Small relief.

I woke up today with you on my mind, nothing unusual. Nothing more painful.

A glass of tepid water, handing father the newspaper, asking mum if she wanted a sandwich, my usual routine. My time in my balcony, the tropical sun beating down hot and heavy, no gentle breeze rustling the leaves, the heat of roads glittering, glaring at me. 

My morning routine, scrolling through news feed. The black portal to my loneliness clutched safe in my palm, my other hand shielding it from the heat of the sun. Nothing keeps, fleeting, false colours of joy keep me going—every day, the same way, the strangest attachment to my world of lies. 

When evening comes with small relief and I’m distracted by the sound of the wind between the trees—

It’s sudden, the rain comes lashing, unforgiving, purging the concrete of unbearable heat. Thunder strikes loud and lightning licks the ground and I’m afraid earth’s come for me.

It’s with fear in my heart that I drag myself out and feel the rain pushing me underground. My soul is drenched, my heart swells and for once, there are no tears. I wanted to talk about beginnings in the end but I’m not part of this world anymore—

A small relief from my thoughts tonight.

In another thousand lives.

A thousand times in a thousand lives you have been brought to me.
These are tangles in my heart that refuse to untie. Your fingers, like soft moonbeam that hesitates to illumine the darkness, never run through my hair.
I look for you in between pages of my notebook, in the dried up lily stuck in them—old and withered. I look for you in the scent of rain washed grass and your scribbles on my notes from class. I try to find you in postscripts and letters, in dog-eared books and toffee wrappers and crumpled paper—all that remains of us.
I remember the way your lips moved when you described how water felt, running between your fingers, and how my breath hitched when I thought of them in my hair.
I remember how your palms caught the sunlight and your eyes twinkled like stars, I remember the joy in your laugh and your smile like the only diamonds I’d ever need.
A thousand times in a thousand lives you have been brought to me. And once again must another thousand years begin.
I find you everywhere and in everything I lost you in. And I know, as sure as the weight of cold, as sure as night after day, that is all I’ll find of you in this life.

close your eyes

one. two.

close your eyes.

It’s here now
the night
like an impermeable blanket around our glass globe
its colour the deepest shade of ink
listen closely and you may still catch the whispers of the lost but
another eternity will pass before you can hear their sun drenched laughter again

it’s fading—all  of it, the sound of the wind, the green of the grass, the blue sky that could turn crimson—everything is fading away
watch carefully and your veiled eyes may still see, even fireflies could light the world up
but it’s fading—all fading, the song of the stream, the sounds of the sea, those crumpled tissues that hid away the drops of your heart in the corner of that diner—every bit of it is fading away
keep your eyes closed, let go, forget.
you can’t bear to watch the world fade away you close your eyes
and pretend
that
you are fading away.
feel the emptiness grip your soul, your heart indifferent,
even if crushed beneath the weight of the lies you just can’t let go
feel the cold starting at the tips, rising up, up from your fingers and toes and eyelashes and black lips—all of that warmth is fading, the flicker of your memories dying—every secret you ever had, unravelling and fading away

the world is painted in this colour now, and you can’t make out if it’s the moon or the raven or the tree you once sat beneath because all of it is fading, close your eyes and every single thing can be seen—fading—all of it

slowly

fading to black.

 

do you still think you can see?

open your eyes

three. four.