I was dealing with depression and family responsibilities, yet trying to heal from trauma but you chose to leave me right then. Right when, I was gathering up courage , courage to finally owe up to a 7 year slow burn for you, waiting for you to finish your career goals when you left me. And not even a word before the final hour. Not even a warning , but a blow.
I have loved you since the first day I met you.. since the first trip I took with you. Since the time we stared at a moonlit mountain together. You were a rock, my anchor. The day it all ended, I told my friend... I feel like a rudderless anchorless boat.. As I suffer through my personal troubles now, my failing health, I wish .. and I rage.. and I scream internally... YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN HERE. And although you never promised anything, it seems weird now that it was all me and zero of you in there.
Those days, hot and sultry as young love, ended with tea and smoke. I never smoked, though...or did I not? Smoke like love is inductive. When all around you, people smoke and drink and love... A yearning grows in you. Which satiates itself in passive inhalation. Much like falling in love with characters from folds of a dusty classic. Forgotten and imaginary, just like me. In the commotion of a roadside stall, filled with smoke layered conversations that oozed out of us, like the departing sunlight filtered through a mess of cracked wall and cobwebs, I had seen you. I had seen you through a gap within the smoke. The snakes and dragons of smoke curled around you and you looked somewhere far. It is as if nothing touched you. That mad unsettled look in your eyes had settled in some other world. You felt the weight of my gaze. I had always wondered how gaze feels like a touch. Like a deep slumber that has touched your eyes and you cannot see. And you looked at me...
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