It’s a peaceful night & I’m sitting in my room alone listening to sad music, reading sad poetry and thinking about other sad things. Why am I so sad?I wish I wasn’t. I was trying to get myself drunk on hope, so I wouldn’t wake hung-over on pain. Hope. I was drowning myself in it. I couldn’t let it go.
Although I’m a typical loner in daily life, my consciousness of belonging to the invisible community of those who strive for truth, beauty and justice has preserved me from feeling isolated.Let me tell you a story. A tale that has surpassed ages and outgrown time but still a fresh and solid narration. There is something maddeningly attractive about the untranslatable, a word that goes silent in transit. Love.
When I was still in highschool, during the holidays, the neighbour’s kid and I, we used to sneak out of our houses every Sunday night, after the world fell asleep, to try & find what it dreams of. She was a gift. She had a soft voice and strong hands. When she sang, she would seem too large for the room and she would play the guitar and sing, which would make my chest feel huge. Sometimes I would touch her knee and smile. Sometimes touch her face and my eyelids just battered. I remember those hot afternoons, we would take a walk uphill, relish the heat and basically talk about the generality of life. And the first time our lips touched, they tangled in swirls and swings of desire and lust. I assured myself that I was safe and within the walls no enemy could pull a threat. And I thought it was just for fun, but deeper, we knew our story had just begun.
On this night, we went outside and lay on the cold grass and shivered and stared at the stars and first we talked about school then we talked about the coming elections. In the darkness, I saw the change. A non existent space of our salvaged love. All lies, I love one and it cannot be any more true. Her name remains a secret and I’ll keep it that way.
“I’m so tired,”she said
“Then fall asleep.”
“I’m not that kind of tired.” She said,” Sleep won’t cure this type of tiredness.”
“What do you mean?” I sat up to look at her. Now trembling.
“I’m tired of acting like am OK. Tired of these people of our town, and tired of saying sorry. I’m sick of running from my life and I’m tired of being stuck. I’m tired of being tired.”
“You have made so many enemies?” I asked with gentle irony.
“Strangers,” she replied,”I seem to make strangers of all the people I meet.”
Then there was the silence for close to a minute. I didn’t notice I was staring directly into her eyes, my thoughts had wondered far into oblivion. When she asked, “How do you spell love?”
“L…o…v…e…” I said absent-mindedly
“No Owidi, You don’t spell love, you feel it.”
Instinctively, that premonition I had felt before. And I knew where this conversation was headed ultimately.
She cuffed my hands in hers, a tear rolled from her left eye and another from her right almost immediately. “I have overlooked how I survived through tornados and storms and heartbreaks & tremendous pain, and I want to take a moment to be gentle to these bruises. For once to not berate these scars for marring the body that saved me. I have seemed to overlook how I learned how to love in this body and was loved in return. How it endured, how it thrived. How it served as a vessel to travel and help others and hold love in these hands. A temple for my hopes and ambitions.”
Her tears were flowing two way uncontrollably but there’s not much I could do as I tried to conquer my own.
Oh, I knew she would leave me by the way her eyes spoke to me telling me to run away. But I loved her anyway.
And in a coherent whisper I murmured, “Maybe we’ll meet again, when we’re slightly older and our minds less hectic and I’ll be right for you and you’ll be right for me.
But right now, I am chaos to your thoughts and you are poison to my heart.
Her departure leaves a scar on my heart never to be forgotten but her slipping right from my hands leaves a scar that will forever be carried into my future. A dark soul that yearns for her touch but gets locked up in a quiet world in a beautiful, pretentious smile and the incorigibility of the words ‘I understand’.
I became blind the day we parted ways and my eyes disagreeing silently fell from my orbits. And so she drank my tears as an elixir for her low self esteem. Then suddenly I was all alone with a body that can’t love me and a will that couldn’t save me.
To You: Prisoner of Pain
May your tempest hit still, May your soul find rest. In peace may you push through, love may you find. May your walls of pain shatter into a billion fragments. Within may you once more be whole.