was when I told myself that I'd finally make a decision.
To let go.
Blindly, I said the words.
And what I asked for happened.
It did,
with all the unknown pain I never thought existed.
After five years,
I was on my own again.
No hand to hold,
nobody to watch movies with,
no one to back me up,
no one to goof around with and cry to.
Nobody to tell me things are gonna be alright.
All that we were,
became mere subjects in photographs.
Looking back now,
as fresh as the wounds still are,
I feel distant to what was.
Like, half a decade of my life happened eons ago.
When I wasn't aware.
When I didn't fully know.
When I was just someone who threaded,
wandered, in ignorance.
And now, all I keep are memories.
Them memories that fade,
like 'em old photographs.
And like those old gifts that tatter, or rust.
Like feelings that were real, then; and just imaginary, NOW.
Like those places,
that you thought were stationary, and linear.
But as you emerge into the shadows,
you learn they're alive.
That they're haunting,
that they knew you.
And each alley, or corner, or store, or theater, or even door,
were witnesses.
They whisper to your ear as you pass,
and they tease you as close your eyes to go.
There is surrender,
but somehow, them memories crawl.
Back and forth,
to and for....
On and off,
sore to sore.
I am writing now,
to remember this juncture.
When I can say that there are still remnants,
of my old love.
And my old self.
For the day would come,
when it wouldn't just be surrender,
but abandon.
When all ties,
and memories,
and broken promises
and empty hopes,
wouldn't matter.
When the alleys, and the corners, and the stores,
and every where else,
wouldn't poke in memory.
Today, I still feel.
In the little crevices of my heart,
where light hasn't crept in, yet.
And these words, are the manifest.
Someday, all these,
that's heavy on the chest,
and bitter in retrospect,
will be nothing but,
faraway specks and figments.
Of an old flame.
That the wind tested,
as it held on.
That died its natural death.
That got lost, in changes, and transitions.
I shall keep all that's painful.
I will stare at all that's blinding.
I would linger where it's not comforting.
Just to learn,
how to feel someone's palm again,
and know never to let go.
I'd exhaust myself, and bask in the awful
Just to learn,
how to love again.
'Coz I will,
I'd love again.
 |
Your pain is the breaking of the shell
that encloses your understanding. Much of your pain is self-chosen. It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self. Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquility. – Khalil Gibran |
