Don’t cry for your love, cry tears of Joy.
We are never really alone. We are never really not alone. Are we? We are never really ourselves. We are never really comfortable being our true selves. We are always thinking what the world shall think when/if they see us in our real forms.
Have you ever felt a restlessness to express yourself to someone? Have you ever felt a sense of relief when you have seen someone? Have you ever stared at someone so hard that your eyes have read every intricate details on their face? That your mind has them etched inside the canvas of its palace? Have you seen someone in such a pious way that even Beelzebub himself with all His tricks couldn’t have made you believe that they were wrong? Have you loved anyone so much that you felt that you don’t need to love yourself anymore?
Have you ever hurt the people who did everything they could possibly do for you and yet break them down so bad that every time you saw their smile you felt how broken it was and all you could do was enter the bathroom and lock yourself and let your eyes bleed?
You have loved. You have lost. You have moved on. Made peace.
Is it necessary for everyone to be able to do that?
Is it possible for someone to forget that one person who did everything right and then undo all of them?
How do you recover from That?
You say to your stupid organ that beats that it is a farce. It is a mask to hide us from the cruelty within.
For the most civilised people would go to the depths of Hell to make sure they have their own brands of Heaven. The rant is about to get over or maybe begin again!
I’m restless. In my head. I’m not right. I’m a mess. I take pride in being so.
In a world full of sane murderers; I’m an insane angel with the devil’s horns over my head.
And then I hear her, a devil in her own right but the one with those angels’ eyes that Coldplay sang about. Her voice is so fragile that you almost hear her broken self through it. A broken soul masking it by a charade of false happiness sprinkled over by love. A love that’s so pious for her yet her eyes meet mine and in a brief moment I see us; in a place where she’s looking at me and only me.
The recess bell rings and she’s gone. I follow her. We meet. We speak. We smile. My smile is wider than ever.
“Why me?”, the age old question.
Honestly? It is because I can see you. The real you and instead of running I’d rather wait to see where we go. Where you take me. A place where I see you like no one else has ever seen you. And where you strip me of my ornaments to see the scars I wear.
Some visible; some still fresh. Some simply there only for me to feel.
The answer remains inside; forming yet another wound. I say nothing and Silence has always been my doom.
She came. She saw. She left.
She came back. She saw. She stayed. She left.
Things change after 2 out of 3 falls right? The right and the wrong are submerged. The feelings are iterated and reiterated to a point where we are clueless about what happened. You don’t know what happened inside. Not sure whether it was a wicked game or just a foolish mistake.
And yet you stand.
And she’s back again.
And this time I see her again. I see those eyes again. Regret filled and upset. I see the words weaving out of those lips; apologising and justifying her course of action. I see that black dot on the upper lip.
“Why me?”, she asks again.
‘Because you see me in all my glory and gore. You make sense of this war waging within. You see me but you never judge me for who I am. You see me just the way I see you.
And I feel like this seeing makes sense.’
You were my beacon of salvation and I was your Starlight.
~ the black curse via seeing you see me