You made your home inside of me. You started slowly, placing brick by brick and fixing those bricks with cement and water. You came close, sometimes too close and sometimes; not close enough. You were there, enchanting and then you were gone. Your eyes would meet mine and for the rest of the night, I would search for my favourite pair. Then there were doors. There were tiny creaking doors and large doors with no handles and no locks. And suddenly you were everywhere. Your eyes were the only pair and your shoulder was the only one I wanted rubbing against mine. Your breath was synced with mine and your days were now ours. Your home had windows, windows that would open with no locks and windows that would stay open through the night. You’d walk in and grab by the hand and take me out for hours. We’d be by the sea one second and staring at the stars next. There was no limit to and there were no questions asked. Your home was chaotic and calm with a hint of lavender perfume in the air and a voice in my ears which always made my skin crawl and the hair on the back of my neck rise and that’s when I Knew that you should never build Homes in people because when you start slamming doors and shattering windows and painting the walls from red to blue and from blue to a pale grey, it Crumbles.
It crumbles beneath the sheer pain of abandonment and loss. It stands there on its bricks and mud trying to hold the life it contained within it, only to find that you can build Houses but sustain them with Life and only then can they become Homes.
I was Home and when you left, the doors broke off of their hinges and the ceiling crashed against the wall. There were shards of glasses everywhere. There were mirrors and frames and photographs and records and posters of your favourite 70’s rock band and that the last remnant of your most worn hoodie and your mother’s jewellery box which always had my ring. They were there but not anymore. They shattered under the agony of hearts falling apart and fates falling together and only then did I chant, “Never build homes in people, because they will burn and break and you will leave the four walls barely standing”.
You left a flight at risk without a fear of falling.
Here I Stand. Relaying my words to you, reading out my story to you. Here I stand. Writing down all the words that I have ever known and all the stories that these two eyes have seen and all of the hearts that these two hands have held and all of the tears that have been shed from these eyes into these hands and have brushed against crumbled skirts and loose sleeves and have been shed for once and for all; never again.
Here I lay, beneath the open sky and on a patch of grass that isn’t the greenest. Here I lay and here I lay to tell you that the worse is yet to come and the best is always looming behind it. Here I lay to tell you that no matter what colour the grass is, as long you’re laying on it and you’re laying long enough to tell your story, You are enough. That is all that matters.
Here I sprint. Sprint away from all that has ever haunted me and all that will forever take away from me and all that has little bits and pieces of me and all that owns me. Here, I run away from them onto a place which accepts my broken and incomplete self because all that is broken does not need mending but healing. And all that is shattered will rise from the deepest browns of the earth and will fall upon you from the highest realms of these skies.
Here I fly, fly into the starry sky which has never once failed to awe me. These starry skies are my kryptonite and I shall never ask of you to come with me but if you may, my hand is held open and my heart’s doors always creak open for you.
Here I stop. Stop right in front of you and stop only for a brief moment. I ask you, “Are you here? Are you alive? Do you feel your heart racing and your body tingling and your ears thrumming with the beats of a new tomorrow? Does your mind say yes to your body? Do you want to get out of here? Do you want to go up up and away?”
Here I wait, Not for long, but I shall patiently and keenly wait for the greatest question of them all, “Here I am before you, Am I enough?”
“I am yours, don’t you see that? Everything I am and everything I will ever be; that is all yours, my Love. This is all of me and now all of this is as much Yours; if not more, than it was ever mine. You might not understand, but everything I do, reminds me of you. Everything I see, I imagine seeing it with you. Every time i listen to good music, i think of telling you about it so we can dance to it and every time I dream a dream at night and it doesn’t have you in it, I wake up a little disappointed. I want you, I want us, all of us and all of the friggin time. It is so bizarre imagining a life before you were here and It is almost impossible to NOT have you hereafter. And I am so scared that I more Yours than I am Mine and I feel like I can never reclaim my bits from you anymore and that petrifies me because what if you don’t want some parts of me and I can’t have them back and you decide to toss out in the trash. What then?
Everyone talks about the beauty and the happiness that comes with love, but no one talks about losing yourself to the person. Nobody talks about how possessed you feel and how Powerless that makes you feel. You are not in control anymore. And the fact that I am readily giving up that control and power into your hands with the key to my heart to you is a bigger deal than you could ever possibly imagine. This isn’t me. I am not mine anymore. I am yours and I am doing what I cannot control anymore. This; Me.. Is All You.
And I am afraid. I am so afraid and I am devoid of air in my lungs. And what if you wake up one morning and you don’t want me anymore and you decide that out there is where you belong and all I am is just a mere reminder of how much heavy weight exists in your life. And maybe you won’t ever want to see me. What then? How do I walk again? How do I ever step out again?
I felt a sudden sinking sensation, I always did, at around 2:09 am. The end seemed very plausible and very close at this time. The sky is always dark and these days, the moon doesn’t face my balcony which only adds to my suspicion.
I can see it, I can constantly see my life passing by. Its always flashing past me and I am witnessing it as I’m living it, as twisted and interstellar like that may be. I constantly feel like I’m not doing enough to make this count.. that my remains will account for nothing but a name. There are times when I want to scream and bang and yell and jump up and down until the whole neighbourhood is awake and i have somehow marked a day in their lives and in mine.. kind of etching myself into everyone’s lives.. for one fleeting moment. Something so big and momentous or tiny and miniscule.. something that captures the essence of being here. Something that is unabashedly me and that calls my name. Something that would make my friends shake their heads with smiles on their faces and say “Only she, only She would do something like this” and for everyone else who wasn’t my friend; get them wondering.
Yes, this seems very Augustus Waters like but I don’t understand whats so wrong in wanting to be remembered and making an effort in order to do so. Leaving a mark is essential and not all of get a chance to.
And is where Hazel would interject (somehow, only profound things came to her) “Am I not enough? Is leaving a mark on me not enough?”
If you ask me to, I’d say yes to anything Love. I’ll cross oceans and travel a thousand miles to be with you. If you ask me, I’ll move mountains and tress. I’ll cross bridges and burn walls to be near you. Why don’t you see that as I stand before you; holding my heart in my palm, offering it to you with every ounce of being that I have. Can you not see this?