Honey spills over parted lips and navy-blue waves crash against dark sand, sending a spray of sea salt like glass beads that shudder the air before condensing at the corners of your closed eyelids.

The sea is mourning tonight and our cupped hands do little to protect the golden flame of the candle between us. It shudders in a wind we cannot feel as the gulls hang motionless far above, as if by threads.

We know this place is not meant for us, not meant for fragile vessels of blood and bone, but as the sky comes crashing down we can only lay back, honey-lips open in something between a sob and a scream though no sound escapes them, hands intertwined as our eyes glaze over.

To the pretty girl in the soda aisle of k-mart,

I hope you know that your skirt is cute and your winged eyeliner is sharp enough to slit throats and when I saw you I fell a little bit in love with the way your eyes crinkle when you smile.

In the moments before I glance away and mumble an apology our eyes locked and it felt a little bit magic though to you I am only a little bit forgettable.

In another life, we sit in the park at midnight and you teach me the constellations-

but in this one, the only stars are the ones scrawled in pen ink at your wrists.

A girl told me once that I didn't love enough, and maybe she's right but you wouldn't know the difference because I didn't say anything.

In another life, I press a daisy chain into your outstretched hands as our paths cross and mumble something about the finer things in life, and you blush and I laugh,

but for now, we glance away,

tucking what could have been into half-empty change purses, among pennies and last week's receipts.

If I can’t ever have you the way I crave, then I cannot have you at all.

I desire every ounce of you, and I need to taste your breath and give life back to you.

I thirst for your being, and I need your soul dancing with mine together as one.

I want to collect your tears, store them in a jar, and show you how beautiful your emotions are when you weep.

I don’t know how else to love you but to love all of you.

So, forgive me for wanting to kiss you deeply and profoundly as you deserve.

(Orignally Posted 1 year ago)

It's okay, I know that I am too much.

It's a reoccurring theme in my life.

I'm always too much for everyone.

They come and they go.

They stay and tell me it's okay

to be me, they can handle me.

But then I show them.

And they can't.

I'm too much for this world.

A seething ball of emotions,

Seeping at the seams.

I want to forget how troubled

I have always felt.

I want to forget the things that haunt me.

But this is who I am at my core,

sitting with pain,

I can always handle more.

Born and bred to feel.

The only thing I seem to forget,

when the dissociation kicks in,

Is that I am actually real.

I tried to see the light,

While seeking my inner fight

Somewhere between body and mind

I found my inner sight

Im fighting with all my might

To spread my wings

And take flight

But I cannot see my path

The difference between wrong and right

Who am I to judge

With these words I must recite

Everything I think I know

A feeling so contrite

I've lived many lives

I've gazed into the sun so bright

But I cannot see the end

Only endless stars in the sky at night

I'd like to believe that I am infinite

With a flame awaiting to ignite

Hopefully one day I'll be able to say

I'm more than just alright

For the lost ones I'll have some incite

On this spiral we call life

The journey of life is long

So I guess I’ll have to hold on tight

“What do you want from me?”, she asked me.

“I tried, I really tried to leave, but every time something tells me to turn around.”, I said.

“So you’re here again.”

“Yes, I’m here again.”

“For how long this time?”

“Oh, I have no idea. It depends.”, I said uncertainly.

“Depends on what?”

“On whether someone will tear down the wall.”

“My dear, we both know that this is not the case.”, she smiled.

“No?”

“No. The wall has been torn down many times. And you ... you extended a leg out of it few times ... maybe not a leg ... more a finger ...”

“And?”

“And nothing. As I said, it’s not about tearing the wall, but about crossing what’s left of it.”

“I crossed it once ...”, I said sadly.

“You thought you did but it was just a stumble.”

“So, what now?”

“We are waiting.”, she sighed.

“Will you wait with me?”

“Of course.”

“You know, I’d like to leave but ...”

“Yes yes, I know. But you are afraid.”, she interrupted me.“One would think that it’s me who you should be afraid of.”

“You’re not that bad.”, I said faintly.

“You’re saying it now because you’ve missed me. A bit more and you’ll change your mind.”

“You’re probably right. Still, it’s good to know that you’re not moving anywhere from here, that you always wait for me.”

“Well I’m nothing without you. I can’t exist without you. Where else would I go?”, she asked harshly.

“I don’t know.”

“Anyway, how do you feel?”

“How can I feel being here with you?”, I gave her dirty look.

“Right.”

“But I don’t lose hope.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!”, she cried out.“Hope! Favorite slogan of people who are not capable of facing the reality.”

“You sound bitter.”

“I’m sorry, should I be stroking your head?”, she rolled her eyes.

“No, but a little sympathy would not hurt.”

“I sympathize with you like no one does.”

“Tell me, do you feel sorry for me?”, I asked her after a moment of silence.

“No.”

“Do you pity me?”

“Why, no!”, she laughed.

“Then why am I here with you?”

“Who on earth would you be with if not with me?”

I became silent.

Loneliness gave me a triumphant smile.

#loneliness #conversation #relations #introvert #shortstory #oneshot #love #innerthoughts #diary #journal #fiction

"I can sense your hesitation," a low male voice came to me. I sighed softly.

"It's not hesitation," I said, "I just want to enjoy this view for a while."

I took a deep breath. I didn't want to think about what I was about to do. Not yet. Standing on the edge of the cliff, you can easily see the town on the other side of the bay. Even today, despite the evening fog, it was impossible not to notice the distant church tower and the lighthouse.

I closed my eyes and the sea breeze was taking my breath away. From below, I heard the sound of water and the waves crashing against the rocks. I felt a chill that had little to do with the wind.

"You know ..." the man accompanying me began, "Many have tried before you. I would be lying to say that it brought any relief to them.”

I looked at him for the first time. It was hard to determine his age. His face, though marked with wrinkles, did not lose its youthful charm. He had glistening blue eyes in which I could see slight amusement but also sadness. He brushed the graying hair away from his face and sighed:

"Although I must admit that the place is really magical."

"I’ve always came here when it was really bad. I used to close my eyes and pretend that I wasn’t here, that my home was in that darkness overwhelming me and it brought me...", suddenly I broke off, ashamed of my honesty.

The stranger raised his eyebrows and smiled at me encouragingly.

"And it brought a relief", I finished quietly," Because I should not be here. I can not stand it."

There was a moment of silence. The man walked over to the edge of the cliff and looked down. He frowned and quickly moved away from the abyss.

"Why?", he asked. I thought I heard a note of impatience in his voice.

"Because I’m nobody", I answered after a moment of reflection,"I've been crossing this world for over 20 years, and I can count on one hand moments when I was feeling good."

"Wherever I go," I continued, "whatever I do ... It's all for nothing. I still hear that I don’t fit in, that I have no ambition, that I cannot behave, that I talk too much, that I talk too little, that... It's never how it should be”, a single tear rolled down my cheek and I felt that I can't speak anymore.

I felt the stranger's warm hand on my shoulder.

"It's painful," he said. He noticed that I was looking at him and added," Being underrated."

I laughed.

"But it’s not about it at all", I wiped my tears,"I'm not sad, I don't need you to comfort me."

The man looked at me surprised by my rough tone.

"Then what do you need?", He asked uncertainly.

"Revenge."

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it immediately. His face gained understanding.

"I understand," he said after a moment, "Nothing drives us to act like revenge.But think my dear, are you sure you want to follow this path? There is really no return from it, ”he added sadly.

"That's just it, isn't it?", I asked in a shaky voice,"It’s not about my pain, but about theirs."

The man nodded and frowned. It was getting dark.

"Yes, their pain will be great",he confirmed,"I assume that you have already taken care of it ..."

"The letter is on my bed," I replied with vengeful satisfaction.

"You have a nasty character," the stranger said carelessly. I looked at him furiously and he, not caring, continued:

"You are not the first or the last person who's living, oh ... sorry ... I should say dying in order to play back."

I shrugged my shoulders. I was getting tired of his company. The lighthouse on the other side of the bay shone. It was a sign.

"Well, it's probably time for me," I said slowly and turned to the stranger. "You don't have to stay here with me."

"Oh, I'm afraid I have to," he said with a smile.

I looked one last time at the lights of a distant city. I glanced at the stars. I listened to the sound of the waves. I took a step forward thinking of those who I was leaving.

"Are you brave enough?", asked the old man," Or should I ask, is your anger big enough?"

"I just don't see the point," I whispered.

"Of course, it's pretty understandable," he said, nodding.

Next step. I already saw the rocks lurking beneath me.

"Do you think it will hurt?", I asked this question to delay the inevitable.

"Falling doesn't hurt. It's like flying,"said the man,” Only that the destination is defined in advance’

He laughed lightly. Fear swept over me, I couldn’t catch my breath and my heart was pounding.

The last step. I couldn’t see through my tears.

Another one.

And my leg freezes in the air.

I'm flying. I’m leaving them all behind. With the sense of guilt.

Darkness.

"I've been waiting for you here," a voice came from far away. A familiar voice.

The glittering blue eyes turned black. The flames reflecting in them were the last thing I saw.

“For a girl without a mother, life is callous.” This was what everybody used to say when I was a littlie. They asked me if I missed my mom and I tenuously replied yes (sure I was a good actress). But those dumb little creatures never realized that I was only three when I lost her to the accident. How would I, in the name of God, remember her? It was like she never existed and no one can miss someone who they cannot remember. Rather, quite a few times, I liked being motherless.

At first “mother” was not a very interesting word. But soon I realized that it actually was, when one day I got teased by some of my seniors. It was another gay day at the school when some filthy looking boys entered the class. “You know what?” one of them said aloud pointing at me, “Your mummy is a mummy” the other said. The whole fourth grade class room resounded with the giggles that followed. And to everyone’s surprise I was the one laughing the hardest. Not because I was too wise to be annoyed by such badgers but because it was simply funny. Imagine how enticing it would be to have a mummy as one’s mom.

So yes; I was an ignorant girl who loved and admired and needed only one person i.e. her dad and never wished to share him with anybody (not even my own dead mother). Also, among girls of my age, mothers were regularly labeled as crabby, talkative and hot tempered whereas fathers as placid, taciturn and dear. And let me tell you, my father was not my mother but my father. Like all the other witty fathers he never required words for expressing himself. I understood him and he understood me without saying anything. And that made our happy and complete family, understanding each other.

Life was good as the calendar evolved. But everything changed one day, just a month after my 14th birthday, when I had a severe stomach ache. Dad was not home until then. So I, a self-proclaimed doctor, took a pain-killer and retired to bed early.

I woke up the next day to see a bright sun in my room. Wondering why I was still in bed, I walked up to the refrigerator, with eyes nearly shut; and saw a note from dad.

Have to go early today but don’t worry will be home soon.

Tried to wake you up .But you are such a kumbhakaran.

So sleep on

You can skip the school today.

I stumbled back to my room, still sleepy, but all my drowsiness vanished when I saw a big red spot, as big as a penny, on my pretty pink bed sheet. I stood there aghast, drooping against the frame of my king-size bed. A lot of questions crossed my mind; what could it be?........is it BLOOD?.........where did it come from?........why it had to be on my favorite pink sheet?( I was concerned about it the most actually)……….

Totally under control of my reflexes I removed the sheet and rushed into the bathroom to wash it. As soon as I entered the bathroom, my eyes fell on the large mirror in front of me. And what I noticed, completely took me by shock. The pajamas which I was wearing also had a big blood spot on them. I was completely nonplussed. You never know how to react when something like this happens. Quickly, I sat on the toilet seat to remove my pajamas and blood smeared underwear. I was bleeding! And not even a normal bleeding, bleeding from under; a place I was not introduced to; a place I was discomfited to define even in my own head. I was afraid and embarrassed at the same time. I was not able to look at myself. I knew I had contracted a deadly disease. I knew that I was going to die.

I tried to think of somebody, who could help me with my problem but was not able to conceive a single name. I couldn’t tell dad because that would be soooooo embarrassing and the news of me dying would only make him go nuts. Not very gregarious as I was, I never had any confidant with whom I could share my misery. Also I didn’t want to make a daft of me in front of my classmates by seeking any advice from them. Actually, I was so ashamed to tell “anybody” in this whole world. There was not a single person to share my sorrow. This made me much more miserable than before and I cried there, in the bathroom, till infinity.

I lived with the embarrassment and humiliation, stuffed my pants with rags and cotton and made excuses to skip school for almost four days. But on the fifth day dad ordered me to go to school without paying heed to any of my excuses.

I went to school but never lifted my gaze up from my shoes. I escaped the teacher’s eyes for the whole day and didn’t move an inch. After spending the day plastered on the bench I heard the bell ring. As I hastily got up, the girl sitting behind me whispered in my ear, “You’ve got a spot on your skirt……” She was still speaking but I went stone deaf. Without letting her complete the sentence I ran out of the room with tears welling up in my haggard eyes. She followed me into the washroom and the dam of tears overflowed.

“Why are you crying? Tell me. Can I help you?” she said while pulling something out of her bag.

“Here, take it if you don’t have any but please don’t cry.” I had no idea what it was and my bewildered eyes mirrored the question.

“Oh! First time. Don’t worry. It will not let the blood spoil your clothes.” she answered my unquestioned question.

“I am going to die because of this disease and you just worry about my clothes?”

“Which disease?”

“This bleeding disease.”

“It’s not a disease, it happens to every woman. You remember the concept of menstruation we learned in class 8th. Didn’t your mom tell you about it?”

“No, my mom never told me about this. Why would she do this to me?”……………And then it struck me……….. OH MY GOD! I don’t have a mother……….. My mummy was a mummy and then it was not funny because I needed her and I missed her.

Yes, you can miss someone who you don’t remember. Because ‘missing’ someone is the result of love, which remains even after the memories vanish, which needs not to be remembered but to be felt.

I felt my mother’s love, that day, when I was grieved and needy.

I felt her saying, “Don’t worry Dear, I am here for you”.

Her love came down to pull me out of my blues. I knew she sent this girl to help me. I felt that love……… I felt her…….. I felt her presence and her absence……..I missed her………...

Have you ever

looked over an edge

and felt a sort of

invisible weight

pressing down on

your frozen frame?

Every end

to a stable platform

leads my thoughts

to the unstable

emptiness

that comes from

o n e

s t e p

f o r w a r d.

Every time I look down

with h o l l o w eyes

and mystified lies

my heart beats slower

(as if it knows

I’m okay with the way

the ground sways

closer

beckoning me

to let go.)

Every time

I lean over

an edge

my mind

p l u n g e s into rivers

swimming about

in thoughts

rushing past me so fast.

(fear courses through my veins like ice).

When I stand

close

to my death

my limbs

f r e e z e over

(I can’t move, I can’t move, I can’t move).

You’d think

it was the distance

between

me and the ground

that I am afraid of.

But it isn’t the falling

I’m afraid of;

It’s the knowing

that I want to

take that one step forward

into the unstable abyss

that jolts me backwards

with heavy breaths.

“I’m just afraid of heights” I say

but really

I’m afraid of myself.