15TH October, 2017 (3:19HRS)
Ten faces. All in a circle, surrounding me, looking at me, just staring, but hard. A sharp pain in my chest wakes me up to a flash where I’m once again surrounded by darkness. I switch on my flashlight to see if they’re there, but nothing. And that’s where I’m lost.
I take out my laptop, come outside my desolated room, once crowded by my insomniac wander-less thoughts and a messed up table, take the cleanest place I could find on the marble floor right adjacent my wooden room and start.
Organizing my cluttered up highway of a mind, is probably the world’s most difficult task that even a team of the universe’s best experts won’t be able to solve. It’s a mystery none have succeeded to conquer yet. De-cluttering is my favorite past time these days, and having come to a point where I’m finally getting time to write again, is a feeling of euphoria.
You know that saying right? The one that says that if you can get a person drunk, you can get him open. The grey spectrum no longer exists then. The house of black and white reign. Sometimes they co-exist, sometimes either dominates.
There comes a point in your life where there’s this one thing that you’ve been preparing your whole life for, you know you want it and you’ve done everything for it, but just like ashes they fly into the ocean, lost forever, swimming with the fish that have torn bits and pieces of your flesh like piranha, leaving you scarred. You do know you yourself are the cause, you don’t blame anyone, and somewhere that’s the aching scar in your heart, the pain in my chest.
My roommates are sleeping inside, unaware of the fact that their is lying sleepless outside in the cold. But I guess there’s a point in everyone’s life where you just have to deal with your own shit, alone. Here’s mine.
3rd January, 2018 (02:09HRS)
A piece of shard comes flying into this façade of mine, a large one at that. A moment later I’ve been turned to my side, my head kissing the once crystal clear side-window of my car, now wine-red, painted with my blood that ceases to stay within me. I can smell smoke in the air that chokes me, soon blackening the edges of my vision, just as it does the inside of my four-wheeled friend. Right before it all goes dark, a hand pulls at my soaked flannel blue basketball T-shirt.
I have no idea how long I’ve been out, but when my eyes open, I realize, not long. Familiar faces surround me, one has a square face with an exceptionally well maintained jaw-line and that familiar black watch that never leaves that hand, my best friend, the one that pulled me out. The others seem hazy, but I can make out that they’re people I live with (in the hostel). As a flash back I start to remember every scene like a movie. He was to take the car out that day, but for some childish reason I got my way to take it for a ride. I’m so glad I did, if it wasn’t me, it would have been him. Now, when I see his face, I’m content that I took that decision, if I was able to save his life by giving mine away, I’m okay with that. I could never live with the fact that I could have done something.
I call him close so that he can listen to my whispered thoughts, my last words, “Tell her, she was the best thing to have ever happened to me in this life.” I had been in love with her since October 15th, 2017. Or maybe since before, but realized it on that day. On the last day of the year that 2017 was, I made him promise me to let her know that I love her and always have. I just didn’t know it would happen so soon. Just as I was ending, she came. I caught a glimpse of her face and I knew I shouldn’t have. I could no longer feel the wind on my face, or smell that smoke, or see that beautiful tree above my head that stood for a thousand years guarding that place. All that was in front of me was that face of hers, that perfectly carved round visage, those luscious long black hair that brightened her up, and those ebony black summer night eyes that you’d simply get lost in. A brief mini-second after, all was gone.
You know those days when you regret something and just wish with all your little fairy wishes that some blessed soul will come and reverse it all? That was exactly that day. I wished I had just a minute more to say Goodbye, to tell her it’s okay, that you can live without me. But nope. That never happened, I was an unfinished story, a letter incomplete, a teardrop in the rain, unnoticed, slipping by silently into the green oasis that once stood tall in some far off land quenching the thirst of passersby’s.
That teardrop was real, I felt my pillow soaked with a trillion of them. I was never able to lie from you now, was I? Well, this is me telling you the truth. People are a mess. Some are small, some are big. Some silent, some loud. Some scattered, some concise. Whatever it is, people are messed up. You’d ask me what kind of mess you are, I’d say, mine. You’re my mess.
I loved you when we were just laughing at some stupid not-so-laughable joke I made. I loved you when you were bandaged up and I stayed back to take care of you despite the fact that that meant my entire five-day vacation. I loved you when one message of mine saying “Bro?” made you call me to ask me if I’m okay. Or the time when I was going to do something that might have broken my heart and you told me you’d come home even at 2AM if I needed you, all I had to do was give one ring. I loved you when I didn’t speak to you for more than a week because I thought you didn’t understand me and didn’t care, when actually you were still finding out from other people if I was okay. You knew I needed you, and in some way you were still there. You needed me too, I could see that in your eyes when it was too much for you or me to take. I have loved you always, and always will. But maybe you’re mine in some alternate reality, the cat in the bag. Not everyone is looking for a soulmate. In this life, maybe I was just meant to be a Joey to a Phoebe, my Phoebe.
You’ve always told me to take that risk, to date that person, to take that job and to do the things that scare me because they’re worth it. Well, this is me, taking that risk. But not loving you is hard. I have to keep reminding myself that I’ve lost you to another man. But then maybe, you were never mine to begin with. All I can tell you is, “Don’t lose him.” I know you’ll ask me why. Well, all I can say is, “He looks at you just the way I do.”
A Devastated Dreamer?