"I have realized that every relationship can be treasured, and that there is as much relief in releasing ourselves from our past, as there is in finding someone who gives our ability to love a new lease of life." - Jasmines in Her Hair, Kalpesh Desai
He wanted to act as if nothing had happened—as if connection didn’t mean a damn thing. Are we strangers now? Why can I still hear him call my name? Why does he follow me everywhere I go? And of all the things that would remind me of him, why does it have to be the things I used to love? Someone once told me that she wants to find somebody who has more similarities with her. I did not know what to say. Because I lost a person like that, or more accurately, that person left me. We felt so in tune together that when he disappeared, I wanted to unlove the things I loved. But why, why would I do that if I had loved them long before he came into my life? It just wasn’t fair. How did I go from being obsessed with winter to getting lost in autumn? Bits and pieces of him, scattered in what seems to be a limitless universe—and every particle holds what could have been our infinity.
Setting Your Heart Aflame
Do you remember me?
Or has the sound of my name
Ceased to be
Words that set your heart aflame?
How could it have been so easy for him, and not for me? Sometimes, I wonder if he thinks of me; Does he see me when he looks at the stars? Does he hear my voice when he sees a plane? Does he feel my touch when he rides his bike? Does he long to taste my lips whenever he eats tinola? Does he still love our most wonderful time of the year? Does he even miss me at all?
It’s been years, and still, there’s almost always something about him embedded in my writing. I’m practically just conjuring up different worlds with him in it. And I don’t think I’ll stop anytime soon. A mentor of mine once told me that if you really have a true connection with a person, it would take seven years to get over them (or was it ‘forget’?). As I sit here, reading this book, I keep thinking to myself: Sigh, why am I reading this? This is torture. But is it really? Is it better to forget about him entirely, or do I take pleasure in keeping our memories despite the bittersweet pain it entails? How come I seem fine when I’ve been shattered inside? And why does he still linger in my heart when my mind refuses to give it attention?
Guilty Pleasures
You and I
Speak till the break of dawn,
Guilty pleasure
Belies souls lovelorn,
And we tuck away
These secrets,
Into hearts forlorn.
I have washed my sheets a thousand times, but they still smell like him. How many times has he washed his to remove mine? I bet he just bought a new set. And I bet he changed them as soon as he walked away—perhaps even long before. As if nothing had happened. I comfort myself in thinking that I didn’t want a guy who could ever do that to me. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that he holds the key to my heart. The funny thing is, I’d like him to keep it in case he comes back. What a fool, says my mind. To what extent can loving be considered foolish, asks my heart. Me? I just go about life as though both of them are not at war. As though I don’t go home to the material things he has given me; as though I don’t sleep under sheets that smell like him; as though I don’t listen to music that reminds me of him; as though I don’t glimpse at my phone hoping he’d give me a call; as though I don’t subconsciously stare into nothingness, daydreaming about everything we’ve done together and everything we could have been.
Will there be one more of you?
Will there be one more of you?
Can it exist in someone new?
If I know that I would forever have a place for you in my heart, does that deem me unfaithful to the next person who comes along? If I were to accept someone new, would that be unfaithful to you? How could I think of such things when you’re out there being happy with someone else? How could I be unfaithful to someone I’m not even with, to someone who chose to let me go?
Why, why does my heart stay? It’s not about the kiss I never got, but the words left unsaid. It’s not about how he left me, but the memories he might forget. It’s not about what we had both given away, but what we had wished to have given more. It’s not about the laughter we shared, but the subtle stares. It’s not about his silly teasing, but the truths he claimed were lies. It’s not about the sincerity of friendship, but the denial of something beyond.
I’ve Run Out of Alibis
For all those promises unkept,
For those moments where I wasn’t present,
For all the tears that you wept,
For all those truths unpleasant,
I’ve run out of alibis,
And perhaps forever is a fantasy,
But when I close my eyes,
You’re all that I can see.
In the blink of an eye, it all seemed so long ago. Although I still remember him—almost daily—if he suddenly appears, would I still want to be with him? How long would we be strangers for? Would our paths even cross again? He’s ever in my prayers, and I really do wish him well. I don’t deny that I still have underlying questions and resentments that I wish he would talk about with me. But I have to keep living with the closure I got, and keep convincing myself that it’s enough.
The Void
Perhaps
That emptiness you feel when it’s over,
Is nothing but space,
To newly seek and discover.
by Angel Cruz