“Today, I watched a movie and tried to push away the thought of you, tried not to imagine us on the screen acting out each scene as I asked you to stay and you answered by walking away. I miss the ocean in you. The quiet tide of your fingertips crashing on the shore of my senses, the gentle ebb and flow of your voice, your eyes, your breath; the waves of your desire, the sandy beaches of your smile, the depth of you, the blue of you, the whole of you.
I turned seventeen and forgot what it felt like to be sixteen. Has that ever happened to you? I wonder if one day I’ll flip a page and forget what it feels like to find you everywhere. This morning I woke up and waited for you to happen to me again. There’s that moment of freedom beforehand; the sun is stretching its sleepy hands across my bedroom wall and my eyes are inching open, remnants of dreams still caught in their corners, and the thought of you isn’t the titanic anymore. It’s only a drop, a mere ripple in a shipwreck of things swimming through my mind, and it’s beautiful to belong to myself for a while. But seconds later, and there you are again, blooming like a bruise across my skin, kicking off every other passenger on my train of thought, so that at every station, there’s only you, you, you.
Have you ever wondered where a memory goes when it’s forgotten? In seventeen years of turning with this world, I’ve been to more funerals than baby showers, seen more knees kiss the earth in pain than in prayers, read more poems about loss than about love, but somehow they’re always the same. Everything is the same, and you are the only face that ever matters, the only name that’s more than just a word, you are always the only one. What I’m trying to say is that I miss you. Is that these posts will never come close to doing this feeling justice. How can I explain to you, that I feel you here? I feel you beating in my chest and breathing with my breath and seeping through my head. You’re here, you know? But you’re not.
You’re not here when loneliness wraps so tight around my body I am convinced it is someone else. You’re not here when all I need is to hear your lips wrap around my name so it doesn’t feel like I’m fading away. You’re not here when I put my caps lock on and beg for someone to save me- you’re nowhere to be found. But my fingers find these keys and keep the idea of you awake for a little longer.
You are exhausting to love. My heart is so tired of feeling for the both of us; it is so sick of trying to find ways to make yours pronounce my name, it is fed up of rock bottom being a familiar place. You are exhausting to love, but too beautiful to ignore. Rain. You are rain. Except you are never falling my way. I am always asking you to stay when you answer by walking away.
I love you in a language you are yet to find the audacity to learn.”

Such a beautiful script..


One thought on “You

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