Things He Told Me – Parts IV, V & VI

The pause between pleasure and pain is more than ecstasy
and just a notch below eye-opening heaven.
I am sure your heart beats just as mine does,
when our fingers and bodies pretend to touch.

The world is connected by wires and machines we didn’t built,
but are grateful for.
The world separates us because the machines now rule us.
You say you cannot pass humans through wires and the various things that connect and separate us —
screens,
borders,
hands,
bodies,
love.

Love, I could tell you nothing is impossible.
You’d know I am right because we didn’t think we could feel this way before.
But, it’s impossible to say things you want to mean but are afraid to say.
My words hang in the air
and my cramped body cramps further inwards.
I straddle you
like I would the elephant in the room that I created,
but with more love.

“Listen, I know how hard that was to say.”
It’s an understatement, telling me that my words were as hard as you got when I told you what I wore,
when you ran your fingers through me,
feeling me,
not just dipping your feet in the water,
swimming together,
body-on-body.
It’s an understatement of the difficulty.
But — love, sunshine, a sigh in the dark–
I won’t say I’m sorry we both feel that way.


 

“I miss you a lot these days.”
“I like you. A lot.”
“I would take you out if I could.”
“I don’t know if I can say that because I have never felt it. I don’t know what love is.”
“My feelings for you have changed since then.”
“What do I do?”

“You’re the only friend I have.”
“I love you. I love you so much.”


Shame fills my entire body.
I was a fool.
Such a fool.
Such a goddamned fool.

I believed the lies that you fed me.
I swallowed them like I took you in,
Eyes, smile, words and so much more.

I can still feel your hands creep up behind my back.
I have started pushing them back down or cutting them out,
But your words weed their way in through the cracks as they always do.

My anger rises and ebbs as waves bring in your words on to my empty shore.

“I’m only trying to do the right thing.”

The right thing is leaving someone behind to watch your castle build in the distance.
The right thing, for you, has been throwing people under the bus
By playing it casually cruel.

Your righteousness will  find you a spot in hell and I will be at the doors: your worst nightmare coming to life, and death.



 

Bedtime Stories of Disintegration

This one’s for a certain Ms. Mathur. She needs her bedtime story. 

There is no emotion with less clarity than desire. It consumes you completely and renders you crazy, blind and hot all over. You’re burning with anger, with frustration. You’re on your knees with your hands outstretched because you want to touch something absolutely unearthly to you. You have not seen or felt this way before but in the presence of this one thing. What is it that attracts us to the unknown, you ask? I would not know. I am too young to tell, maybe.

But, here she was. On her knees, with her hands outstretched. Just like you. She touched his face like it was the first time she touched it. There was nothing to it but beauty. She smiled because she felt every nuance of the face with her fingers. The way his eyelids shut as she run her hands over them, his thick eyelashes, the bend on his nose, the dents on the sides of his smile, his lips, his long neck. She felt it all. She drew a picture in her head. She did not have the skill The Guy with The Upper Hand did, but she tried. She tried hard to get him right every time. But, every time she knew it was better with her eyes open.

She blinked, over and over. He laughed at her because he did not understand. It had to be perfect. How did it matter to him? He was leaving. Departure is a tragedy only for those left behind. Left behind, left behind, left behind. It does not take the pain away. No amount of repetition, no amount of reassurance takes it away. Take it away, take it away, take it away.

I want to scream at you. I want to tell you I love you. I want to shake you to see if you even feel anything. Feel something, feel something, feel something. I want to touch you and feel the curve of your elbows and the base of your neck. I could run my fingers around your ears and count your beauty spots. Don’t mock me. It’s all beauty to me.

Time is running out. I have to tell you so much.

But, we slowly disintegrate. We’re only a memory. I could only ask for so much time for you and me. I could fall in fragments on the floor in front of you. Pick me up and keep me with you? Wouldn’t that be a lovely end to this story? I could be a bottle in your pocket.

Or we could open our eyes and realise this moment never happened? We’re living a waking dream, Sunshine. We’re living out our best fantasies in an alternate universe where you believe me when I tell you you’re perfect. In that place between then and now, till we meet, I could count your flaws over and over.

I don’t.

I won’t.

I can’t.

I mustn’t.

Repitition will kill this. It won’t matter soon.