Today I'm going to write. The words I've been holding back and the words I burnt and the words I catch my breath by but never let slip. I thought this was stronger, smarter, more adult. I will get back to all of that tomorrow. Today it's about not holding back. It's about being the fool I long ago confessed I was. I might lose the nerve any second and the words scare me even as I form them. Happiness. My perception of it is very different from the world's. Maybe I like tragedies more. Tragic little martyrs. I'm like that you know, twisted little thing. Little, yes. My happiness got overshadowed by yours long ago. I saw it happening but I never tried to change it. Slowly, I forget when but it got totally swept out - out of the picture - the picture of us in a dilapidated frame. But there's a certain mystique to history you know? Our history. I chose to write it like this, yours over mine till mine became yours. Why? Yours is so much more precious. Mundane things make me happy. Like remember when I would post a part of a song as my status and then you'd reply to let me know that you do, so fucking much, that would make me happy. That princess slipped between words or an overtly repeated baby. That semi twinkle in your eyes when you saw my watermelon face. That goodmorning ritual. All of it. So it doesn't matter because it's immaterial and easily achievable. I don't strive for the easy. Yours however is a whole different story and I want to see you at the pinnacle of ecstasy. Don't get me wrong, us, happy together is not a thought I've forgotten but you. Ah, you.
I used to write poetry back when words flowed like molten heavenly drops of rain from the sky but now they just stream down my face instead. I hold you close and catch a whiff of you from that shirt that I allow myself to hug at night every once in a while when I can no longer stand the distance. If I close my eyes long enough, your face is clear. Nothing is trampled upon, no emotions scarred and there's bourbon in the cabinet and a packet of smokes by the headstand which has your hand placed against it, my head somewhere close by in it. You never did let it hit the bed. You know. I imagine broken things too. Me crying as you cradle me back to sleep. You hold my face and tell me how you hate me for ruining your favourite shirt and I cry all over it anyway. We hug and I have a flight to catch but we don't let go. We're the only ones standing at the airport as shutters around us are pulled down on everything. I breathe in your chest and you find your fingers entangled in my hair, unwilling to leave. I guess for once we listened to a stupid band called The Fray.
I wrote you a letter. I wrote you a story. I even wrote you a song. Why did I never send them ? Silly me but they were all sillier you know. We were silly. Arguing and bickering and never letting the other one win. Well, you can have your victory now. In everything but this. Here I'll always win and I know that you know it somewhere inside you. Somewhere it still echos, the melody you sung for only my ears. It never stopped playing you know. Every once in a while you pick up that rusty guitar and strike a few more chords whether in remembrance or because it's the tune that comes naturally I'm not sure I know. At times you go all the way and even sit back at your drum kit and hit back all the notes of happy and crazy and insane. Thiish thiish thirtaat. Your drum roll. For us. You walk out the music room but I hang back and watch the cymbals ache for your touch and crave for that passion. Records are strewn about, covers of magazines we made love over, a broken string and I put it all back and assemble it till I achieve perfection until your next visit.
Bits here, bits there, bits of us everywhere. Let's go get high ? And on the walk home you can tell me about how I should have not had that last drink or danced by the pole. I'll let you be possessive and walk out with your hand in mine. Claimed territory. Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain, you did always like your girls insane. Do remember to kiss me goodnight though as you drop me home. I think I feel my lungs burning; the face is definitely getting paler. I guess I'm getting deficient. You told me that day how I looked different and I didn't agree but I wanted to tell you the why to it too. So much holding back. God. There's you in the balcony. Sitting on a ledge that's our second home. Let's walk the line ? I write my name in the sand and add yours as an afterthought. They did always look symmetrically brilliant together. We say hello. You say goodbye. I'm not going to be told how to set it right, how to put myself above everything else. I was that girl but back when I was not your.. And I stop myself. I guess there's only so much that I can confess in a day. I didn't come here to say anything consequential really but just come, you know, to the boy; my boy. You know. Someone somewhere today said: 'I didn't say it to hear it back you know.'
Neither did I. Nor do I.
I love you.
I always did love you more.
Your brown eyed girl.
Ps. But if you love me...
I used to write poetry back when words flowed like molten heavenly drops of rain from the sky but now they just stream down my face instead. I hold you close and catch a whiff of you from that shirt that I allow myself to hug at night every once in a while when I can no longer stand the distance. If I close my eyes long enough, your face is clear. Nothing is trampled upon, no emotions scarred and there's bourbon in the cabinet and a packet of smokes by the headstand which has your hand placed against it, my head somewhere close by in it. You never did let it hit the bed. You know. I imagine broken things too. Me crying as you cradle me back to sleep. You hold my face and tell me how you hate me for ruining your favourite shirt and I cry all over it anyway. We hug and I have a flight to catch but we don't let go. We're the only ones standing at the airport as shutters around us are pulled down on everything. I breathe in your chest and you find your fingers entangled in my hair, unwilling to leave. I guess for once we listened to a stupid band called The Fray.
I wrote you a letter. I wrote you a story. I even wrote you a song. Why did I never send them ? Silly me but they were all sillier you know. We were silly. Arguing and bickering and never letting the other one win. Well, you can have your victory now. In everything but this. Here I'll always win and I know that you know it somewhere inside you. Somewhere it still echos, the melody you sung for only my ears. It never stopped playing you know. Every once in a while you pick up that rusty guitar and strike a few more chords whether in remembrance or because it's the tune that comes naturally I'm not sure I know. At times you go all the way and even sit back at your drum kit and hit back all the notes of happy and crazy and insane. Thiish thiish thirtaat. Your drum roll. For us. You walk out the music room but I hang back and watch the cymbals ache for your touch and crave for that passion. Records are strewn about, covers of magazines we made love over, a broken string and I put it all back and assemble it till I achieve perfection until your next visit.
Bits here, bits there, bits of us everywhere. Let's go get high ? And on the walk home you can tell me about how I should have not had that last drink or danced by the pole. I'll let you be possessive and walk out with your hand in mine. Claimed territory. Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain, you did always like your girls insane. Do remember to kiss me goodnight though as you drop me home. I think I feel my lungs burning; the face is definitely getting paler. I guess I'm getting deficient. You told me that day how I looked different and I didn't agree but I wanted to tell you the why to it too. So much holding back. God. There's you in the balcony. Sitting on a ledge that's our second home. Let's walk the line ? I write my name in the sand and add yours as an afterthought. They did always look symmetrically brilliant together. We say hello. You say goodbye. I'm not going to be told how to set it right, how to put myself above everything else. I was that girl but back when I was not your.. And I stop myself. I guess there's only so much that I can confess in a day. I didn't come here to say anything consequential really but just come, you know, to the boy; my boy. You know. Someone somewhere today said: 'I didn't say it to hear it back you know.'
Neither did I. Nor do I.
I love you.
I always did love you more.
Your brown eyed girl.
Ps. But if you love me...
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