Where are you?

There is a wall between us, I can’t seem to break or climb; and I admit I don’t lean against it everyday but at nights and morns I get lost and in my aimless wandering, my feet drag me to back to this moment and I’d recall from my fallible memory when I’d use to be at the length of your knees and held my hands up to you, you’d notice me and sigh, you’d pick me up and I’d hold onto your neck- sometimes too tight for your breath.

It’s a strange watery feeling to remember- you use to kiss my face, the peach fuzz on my cheeks doesn’t make me feel the same. And I wonder what went on in your head.

and then you started to disappear- libraries unchecked and books unread, no more sodas or chocolates, arriving back home before 4pm, who was this person that took me to school. The monotony of  black memory developed.

Years pass by- and I chose you; somehow it wasn’t in me to see it all break. Seeing you talk to walls made me cry- I hated the fact I couldn’t be with you. And I ran every time back to you and you’d take me, I hated it that only one bigot supported me to be with you. You told me I wept too easily but then you told them “Please take care of him he is sensitive” The world didn’t matter to you anymore.

And then the coaster was ready for an other ride- your laugh gained infamy with the neighbors, you brought the libraries home and you wouldn’t get mad if I misplaced a book or two.

You’d bother the family cook for recipes, the first time you cooked, I saw a small mountain of spice on a burning chicken with no water- the chicken bits swimming in the stew looked funny in the end- you didn’t make chicken stew ever again.

Years passed by it was time to come back down again, people blinded you or maybe it was just you, conned you out of hope and I had to leave again- the faint tunes of the music box kept playing in my head; from the night I lost myself, you picked out a chair and asked if I couldn’t sleep- and the smile on your face follows me to this day.

Sometimes I hope on this side of the wall that coaster isn’t broken when I hear your voice crack on the phone- the last time we talked you asked me if I wanted you to bring something and then told me chocolate can be bought from anywhere

and I hope this wall breaks where ever you are- so you could see what it means to me as I hold on to your words :

“گھبرانا نہیں بیٹا”


About Haris

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