Write sad happy

“You walked past me today,” she breathed. “You didn’t stop to look. Not even a glimpse.”

He looked at her then, easier this time. There was a lightness in him that wasn’t there before. “I guess I’m not looking for you anymore,” he said, almost smiling. Almost because he didn’t want to seem too smug about it.

She stepped towards him, forming the words she wasn’t familiar with. “You actually love her.” The words were there, neither question nor statement.

“Yes.” He nodded slowly, he couldnt stop his lips from curling this time. How could he? He finally found some bit of happiness to put in his archives. She saw how he closed his eyes — how it still lit the surroundings even though they were closed and far off to some secret memory of his. They were never like that. When he reopened them, she knew that they were no longer hers.

“And how do you know?” She could feel herself fading.

She noticed how he looked at his fingers and traced his thumb over each of them. “It feels different. It’s cliche, I know. But it’s so very very different. From the way I feel, to the way she traces my fingers. Sometimes I can physically feel the love around me even though she’s far away. She cares and she notices and she loves me like no one else has.” She was wrong about before — his eyes weren’t just lit, they were blazing. He was different. She knew it from the way he looked into the distance — how he longed to breathe where she was breathing. “When I’m with her, the world stops and turns at the same time. I want absolutely everything with her.”

“But how is it different from us?” She had to interrupt, she knew he’d go on and on. “From all of us? At some point I’m sure you felt that for each of us.” He had to squint at her then; her features were not as clear anymore.

Slightly guilty, he steadied himself. “Not like this. Okay, maybe there’s something missing from her. With her, I don’t feel the dread like how I felt with all of you. I was always counting down to the days where I knew would mark the end. There was always that feeling y’know? How it would never work. How it’s too difficult.” He paused. He figured how heavy it all sounded and yet it didn’t weighed a bit to him. He breathed and smiled again. “But I want it to work. Our futures.. it looks a lot clearer. And I know the future can change so instantly and drastically but… this time I’m going to do whatever it takes.  I ain’t counting down to any sad endgame,” he said. “It’s like some sort of magic! Yeah, we miss each other and sometimes we get sad with the distance but.. somehow it turns up again. We do something silly. We call. We crack a joke. Say a simple good morning, goodnight. And I just believe again, yknow? I believe in her.”

She smiled then. She realised how much he loved her. It was visible in the spaces between each word, each sentence, each dialogue. “You write different,” she pointed out.  She could feel it too, the ecstasy exuding from every inch of him. “There was always sadness with you. Even your happy ones; they still felt as if they were only clothing a hidden giant ball of despair. You were so good at writing happy sad.  Oh, look at you now. All different. All in love.” The warmth was genuine now. She’d be fading with the wind any time soon. “She better be the one!” she laughed.


Heh, I know she is.

“One day, I’m going to appear in this blog.”

 

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Hey.

Wait.

Don’t go just yet. I need to say this.

Two days ago, we matched on tinder and it was the funniest, smoothest conversation I’ve had. When you told me then that you’d be flying in two days, I knew I had to make it happen. And it’s crazy because it’s not my thing to just meet people on a whim. I was scared, yes. You could’ve stood me up or secretly have been a 60-year-old man. Hah.

But then we met. For the first time. On Valentines. God, you looked so pretty. And then you started talking and everything was so so good. Yknow, I was really worried it would be an awkward dinner — I haven’t done this in awhile. But you made it so easy. We were exchanging stories and you remembered little details from our texting. It was really sweet. And now that I’m thinking about it, I really really did enjoy myself with you.

And after our very nice dinner (I’m taking you out next time), we met your friends. And usually, my dates get embarrassed introducing me. But you weren’t embarrassed at all. It was nice to know you were comfortable and you were including me in every conversation.

And I’m quite upset that you’re leaving now. You’ll only be back in March. And I know it’s a good sign that you asked if I was interested to hang when youre back and if I wanted anything. But I know how this usually goes. As much as I want to get excited and hopeful… the trend is that I dont get to keep the good ones. And you’re so so so good.

So before you go, I just wanted to say that, I know yesterday mightve been something small to you. But it was perfect for me. It was the best date I’ve had. Thanks for giving me a good evening to look back to.

Touch me.

I never knew what to do after stepping into their houses. They tell me, “Sit, make yourself at home.” But how can I? A stranger intruding on the intimate parts of a life. I can’t sit. I don’t know which spot I should leave my bag. Every inch doesnt belong to me. How can I stain the bits of their everyday? They’re letting me walk into their lives when really, I’ve walked into many. I’ve seen many pictures on walls where I don’t belong.

I let them have their ways with me.

I leave. Their neighbours know. I see it as they watch me leave from their own gates.

I come home smelling of someone else’s soap; their sex still on the tip of my nose where I had pushed my face between someone else’s thighs. I shower twice. Before the clothes come on, I get to look at my body and it is no longer mine. It’s Sara’s, Ann’s, Jo’s, Minn’s, Mel’s, Joan’s. And I haven’t done it for awhile but I think I’ve lost a lot of me whilst finding who I was.

Then you come along and you gave me something I didnt know I needed. You, disguised amongst one of the names. Your husband gave it away to a waiter for our reservations. You took your time. It was not about what we had planned to do. Miss Psychologist, no. It was about the moment.

You drove me to your place. I didn’t know where to sit or leave my bag but you took it from me and placed it on the table. You gave me a house tour; you were letting me walk into your life. But you were walking into mine as well.

I don’t remember the entire night’s sexual activity. But you kissed me different. It was just right. Your fingers were slowly leaving trails on my body. You had me laid down, cradling my head in your lap, caressing the face where I was only familiar with the scars. You kissed my forehead and this tiny spot next to my lips. You told me things I needed to hear. Things I needed to feel. You took your time with me. It was not sex. I had never felt so safe.

Yes, I remember how you felt on top of me. You knew what I liked, you had me tied. You watched intently as I shuddered against your touch. But at no point did you use me. You untied me and started kissing my wrists. You were giving back parts of me that I didnt think I’d have returned. The ropes had eaten into my skin and you rubbed and kissed them slowly. You held me together. You didnt tell me how beautiful I was like the rest of them. You told me I was soft. And brave. And you were afraid you’d hurt me. Your husband had suggested something. You told him you wouldnt. You told him I was yours.

You drove me home and there wasnt a scent of sex on the tip of my nose. I showered once. I had told you to drive safe. I looked in the mirror and trailed the places you’ve touched. You were so tender. How is it that someone can  leave such tenderness on places underserving?

You didn’t drive safe. You walked in and out. You gave back parts of me. And took everything.


I was stuck between submitting about my past or my present. So here is my past. It’s a little different in writing style because it was a difficult memory to go through again. But yes. I needed to get this out of my system

We could be not-strangers

we are two strangers who have yet known
the luxuries of a beating rhythm,
or the sound vibrations
from the corners of my lips to the edges of your skin.
I would ask you to trust me
with your heart and every crevice of your body;
you’ll hold the needles and inject me with the ugliest parts of you –
I’ll take even them.
there will be two separate bodies and one grand promise
that every inch would be worshipped.
We’ll just be two strangers mapping out the constellations
hidden in the light between our eyes.
and I ask you to trust me
because we might not know of the endless possibilities
but with you, I trust we’ll be fine.


For ‘trust’.

You’ll leave too.

“Why do you have your walls up?”

“Because.
The walls…

they help, I think.”

They keep people out. You come and go as you want — no obligations, no consequences. Just distance. No one gets hurt like this. Everyone leaves.

“But do you believe in it?”

Mostly.

Sometimes, you meet someone.

And for some reason you want them to stay.

 

 

 

They won’t stay.


“I think I want it to stay” – City of Stars

 

 

‘Okay’

“Okay.”

“What is?”

“Excuse me?”

“You keep saying that, but really, what is it that’s so okay?”

I used to know. Nowadays, I’m not so sure.

I’ve always had a problem with feelings. It’s not that I don’t feel, or that I don’t know what I feel — I do know, I do. But sometimes I think I know it too well that I just don’t allow them to surface because why should they? Why should they affect other people. Nothing good would ever come out of it now, would it?

I can’t see you today
Okay.

I think I’m in love with someone else
Okay.

Take care
Okay.

Love yourself
Okay.

Are you okay?
I’m okay. I will be.

“I don’t know. It’s an acknowledgement, Isnt it? To you, to me.”

Especially me. Especially me.  Maybe by saying ‘okay’, I get to distance myself from any possible disappointment – self preservation of the future self (it’s stupid). It’s stupid. Nothing good comes out from this. Nothing has. Maybe when I say ‘okay’, I’m really just telling myself that I should be.

I cant see you today
But I was really looking forward to see you.

I think I’m in love with someone else
I know. I’m sorry I wasn’t enough.

Take care
People only say that; I’ll pretend you mean it.

Love yourself
How?

Are you okay?
I’m happy, I’m afraid it’ll all go away.

Are you okay?
No.

Are you okay?
I’ve learnt that, it doesn’t matter.

“An acknowledgement of what?”

“Of all the things I don’t say.”

some days

Some days you just need to shut yourself up. You shut yourself up because you care too much – about everything and everyone and you know that when that happens, you lose so much of yourself.

So much, you want to hit yourself with a metal chair over and over and over and watch yourself deform into a gross set of skin and bones.

Some days you need to stop feeling because every day is both a reduction and an overcompensation. For some possibly self-obsessed reason, people always seem to hurt you even when they’re not.

Some days.

Some days you hope too and it destroys you. 

 

Our Story

There we were. Round table, three chairs. Every month we’d be there – the same lonely café. I didn’t like the place for obvious reasons; this was after all, your neighborhood. But Ann liked the concept. Loose tea leaves, coffee with toasted marshmallows, natural sunlight through glass walls. Plus, there was a pleasantly great lack of people. It was a good place to write. It was a good place to think.

Continue reading “Our Story”