I talk to you in metaphors, and you wonder what’s wrong with me.
You wonder how the transition has been so rapid.
I tell you,
“Storms, humans. Humans, storms.
They‘re both synonymous.”
You stare at me, clueless, not getting the inside vibe or the feeling.
But you try.
Standing right 7 inches away, I see your helpless soul trying to unfurl and entangle all it senses again and again,
I see you try to figure out what I mean.
But I fail you, each time.
Because, I can’t let you know what any metaphor I verbalise, could ever mean.
“I meant nothing, stupid”
I laugh and tell you.
You stare right into my eyes. You’re not smiling. But you are.
You’re not grieving. But you are.
I stare right back at you, agreeing to what your eyes are saying.
“We’ve lost each other.” I hear this heavy bang onto my head,
I feel it.
I feel the word vomit arising.
I feel the thousand heavy words ever felt unsaid, violently trying to break out.
The stacked memories make me twitch, hard and brutal.
The incessant craving to hold you back and make you stay, this time at least, takes over.
Eye lids start to feel heavy and gradually, drop as I’m filled with remorse and frailty.
My hands tremble along with my feet, and descend, busted.
And I realise, that despite all the hundred times I’ve tried to convince myself that you would no longer matter, I still ache for you.
And suddenly, my entire being feels tired, once and all over again.