Other People’s Love Letters Got Me Here

If you love me, write to me.
I have waited for years.
Always the sender, never the receiver.


Words that I don’t even know anymore after they were
Written in
Sunlit hostel rooms,
Cold classrooms,
Or dimly lit living rooms.

Words that were delivered
But not held
To a heart,
Not reread to memorise,
Not opened up wide to read between the lines.

“It’s only a letter.”

But you forgot I also sent you
my favourite books with my favourite sentences underlined
To remind you I heard them in your voice.

I sent you a picture of me at age five —
to show you I have been a child,
I’ve been innocent,
lived a life you have not been a part of
but should have been

A memory gift-wrapped for you.
To tell you this is who I am.
“I am yours.”
All parts (past + present + future) of me.

I also sent you a story.
A fantasy you asked for as a joke
I took too seriously.

I sent you my heart in between the lines.
Check again between the “I miss you” and “Wish you were here”.

Sure, you probably only got the words.
Maybe the rest got lost.
Maybe post offices are the reason you never saw me enough to love me.

Because if you’d loved me, you’d write to me.

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.