2 I remember how heavy it felt on my chest when the bus passed by, for a moment I wished the atoms stood still- for time to stop and stand still for me, so that I can sit next to you again and look at the mountains. Yet it passed by- so fast that my slow pace faded. I came back home and I could see how relieving it was for everyone. You were finally gone, a burden off their conscious, it felt like my funeral. I was back in the messy room we left. The blankets, the empty tea cups, the messed up bed- I felt I had walked in the wrong room. I stood there and saw ghosts I couldn’t see but hear, gravity was pulling on my chest instead of my feet until I was overwhelmed and I sat down. This place wasn’t home anymore- My eyes were wet. Not as wet as when you sat next to me and made me listen to that song, I was not cowering behind my hands, quaking in dug up holes. I wasn’t huffing for breath, choking on my tears. I wasn’t flashing past static, routing at 70- I wasn’t hoping to crash into the blackness, out of the colors of life.No- I wasn’t whimpering like I whimpered in your coiled arms uncertain of your grizzled lulls but the pressure- like always- Multiplied by numbness of every moment I spent with you, Undying like a kiss craved but insatiable, I had given in and I let it slip to you. It was only 20 minutes and all I could feel was your absence in your parting eyes.

It’s a sad thing- I realize, I wish I wasn’t the one to wake up early that day or the night before, had you dealt with your cellphone I might have found the will not to peek too close, but there was desire you see, a part of me wanted to see behind the rose-colored glasses- I wanted to know what I looked like through your eyes, what I saw didn’t surprise me. I knew disappointment was waiting on the other end of my actions and after reading what I read I felt that your purpose was more than fulfilled.

You got see how I was when I was sick- all those coughs and pouts I don’t know how you managed, all my whining and picky nature with food, How you left the rice and took the risk of burning it while you fetched the water and meat from the store- When you got back, you had me beside you almost choking, the rice nearly burnt and in the end all you got was a bad mood but you didn’t quit and messed up some more, over marinated the whole cook and brought it to me and told me not to complain. Wasn’t it strange? All that failure and yet you still ended up with a dish that wasn’t bad to taste? I don’t eat when I’m sick yet I finished the whole plate,  it was the balanced taste.

You got to beat me in the most goofiest ways, where we both challenged each other like 5 years olds throwing darts at the door, Throwing fake spells, black magic and names calls, Wasn’t that strange? We both got a bullseye once. And there were the deeper things- when you kept asking me about my thoughts in my silence where I was on a cross-road.

I remember the closeness of your lips next to mine on the first night- I must have said no to myself a hundred times and yet a single small gest was enough to make me surrender- It was never enough. I was glad, I felt cherished again, when you put up with my worst- You were always there  inside your eyes, the mornings when you looked into my eyes, how my eyes almost teared when you fed me with your hands- And then that morning came and everything was short-lived.

Told myself- again “This might be the last time I see her sleep”, a part of me teared and the rest was numb with disappointment. Yet I remember how badly I waited for an excuse to escape your lips, never had my thoughts ever begged but that was the morning they were begging you to save it- but you got up and left me standing there- I regretted my need to escape.

Before leaving you I tried holding you one last time- and alas it wasn’t long enough, you were a beautiful rage and it was hard to let go of you… and when I was out on the street I turned and I looked back again and again and all I saw was nothing- When I reached the point where I was certain I wouldn’t been able see you if you came out after me, my mind yelled : “That was the last time you see her” And then next came the misery with each step, where I wondered, if things could have been made different. And then it came to my mind.

“Why grieve when you meant nothing?”

“… It felt like I meant something”.


About Haris

I've never seen myself as a writer but sometimes words just flow out of my fingers.
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