Recently I’ve been thinking about God whether He shivers, and writing about boys who don’t exist anymore. I’ve been thinking about people who I thought were my friends turning on me because circumstances have changed and the kindness of a stranger who still sees me as a human being. I’m thinking of my friend Jack who is away touring potential colleges with his son. But he’ll be back tomorrow and I’m going to meet up with him and I can’t wait to cry in his arms as I’ve been waiting to let out my anguish and pain in someone’s arms who really loves me and cares for me. Moments like these make me angry when I feel human and it is really not what I wanted. I hate being vulnerable.

I’ve been learning about different kinds of distances and the fire of longing that warms instead of burns but ends up consuming. I’ve been thinking I want to belong and I’m thinking how much I miss you, but I’m also thinking how absurd to think that I miss you.

I talk about distances like I’m a map, like I’m old and I’m hurting and my wrinkles are streets and my tears, rivers that led me everywhere but to the sun at the center of me, the memories of people and places burning underneath. I think about longing but it could only ever turn people into tragedies. I am thinking about the burnt forests and houses. How the fire annihilated everything in its path and left everything bloodied and blackened in its wake, angrily spitting out ashes and maybe I am a masochist; maybe we will end up as soot and ashes to be inhaled by unsuspecting lungs; my body hardened with sharp edges sleeping across the ceramic floors of the bathroom. Like how I had to fight for it and how hard and easy and how complicated and simple. May be my story ends with me being bloody and blackened and spitting out ashes and maybe I’ll be the tragedy you watch on the local news and my name becoming news and me an old ghost like you were on my tongue and the way your name sounds as I miss you.

Lately, I’ve been memorizing your memories. stuffing them in my lint filled shirt pockets for safe keeping and gentle old age. I’m binding your story with the skin of my heart to surpass the notion of time. I lay awake and keep still to hear you breathe gently and softly like you used to. I can still feel me snuggling up to your arms and resting in the coveted space between your neck and shoulder and trying to warm up and waiting for sun to rise and moon to set. How many eons has it been ? circulating the lost moments till the breaking of light. I know how to reminisce. Or I know how to lie.

Bringing up the blueprints of your anatomy and tracing your silhouette. My eyes have gone weary and paling the colors and isn’t always interpreted the way I mean them to. There are only sound waves and the speed of light dragging their heels in the sand of your arms to leave marks of where we have been. and I am, always searching for you in these lost moments and found times.

I’m sitting here thinking if God shivers the way I do. I’m thinking I love you more than I love sweet sweet mangoes. I’m thinking I love your more than my ralph lauren comforter. I am thinking how much I miss you, but I’m also thinking how absurd to think that I miss you. You and I were everything and I became nothing. How can I then miss you ? And then again, how can I not miss you ? I think of you every moment, and I hear you on the other end of my thoughts and I hear your voice and I want to hang up on you. I hate saying goodbyes especially if they are forever. I ache for you and my eyes miss your form and tear up. I want your arms around me, keeping me safe and I want to hear you say I miss you. But these are just a sad girl’s lonely musings. The night just started and as it grows, you’re on my mind and when the night fades into day you’ll fade from my mind as well. But, then again, another night will be born, and you’ll be on my mind again.

The day I met you, I lost myself. The day you died, I disappeared.

(Title credit: Marcel Proust)

Advertisements