A Wanderer’s Abode

What a beautiful night. I witnessed the quiet, endearing love that exists between friends. Just people choosing each other in small, unremarkable ways that are, somehow, absolutely extraordinary. The tenderness of him and the people around him… moments caught between the lights, the smiles, the stories. What a life it is, to be wrapped within its fingers. A beautiful collection of people.

But then, days like today, my heart carries the weight of all the dreams I haven’t lived yet. Those aren’t soft anymore, rather it is so sharp that it hurts every muscle. I can feel it tearing me apart, consuming me, physically and mentally. Its energy engulfs me. I can neither work, nor sit still. I am left with a constant hum and I find myself looking for the dark, full of hope that it would be able to save me. But it doesn’t dare visit me. Darkness too is scared of the fiercess of my desires.

I let the ghosts of my unlived lives flow through me. While every atom screams for it to be released, I hold myself together with determination. My resolve helps me carry a smile throughout the day.

Then one day, I was home after a tiring day and there were oranges sitting on the counter. I knew they had to be eaten that day, a day later, they’d be rotten.

I was just too tired.

I completed my chores, and the oranges were still there, colourful and nudging, hoping I’d pick them up.

I walked past, and found my bed. My head comfortably rested on the pillows.

Those damn oranges.

When my thoughts speed through leaving me breathless, his voice keeps me grounded. My fingers do not know his, but how do I explain this familiarity? I know I saw him in my dreams the other day. Or were they left over memories from my previous lives? He calls me by my name and I hold my breath so I can carry that feeling for a few more seconds inside me. Happiness follows me relentlessly when I’m around him.

“This is what you always do,” I heard someone say. The voice was calm but cold and I’d recognise it from anywhere.

“What?” I asked.

“Run away.”

I wanted to say I wasn’t running away.

I could feel the tears in my throat. My thoughts were spiralling and I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop. Not after all this. So I decided not to resist.

I unclenched my fist. I’m welcomed by a sharp pain, followed closely by breathlessness. I let it pass through me. The first drop took every ounce of my being to surface. It struggled to emerge. The sobbing that followed did not need any invitation.

I wasn’t running away. Not really. I knew what I was getting into. I knew very well what would happen. What it would take. What it would do. I was running straight at it knowing it all too well. To get myself immersed in the pain of his presence.

Love has always been around. But love used to hurt, and sometimes even played games. Love maybe made me feel bad about myself. Love was inconsistent and confusing.

At 26, I’ve realised that love doesn’t hurt, even when love doesn’t feel the same way. Love surely doesn’t play games. I’ve learnt to love in a different spectrum, to love at a different scale. Love is calm. Love walks right next to me, as a friend. Love finds time for me. Love communicates well. Love makes even mediocre exciting. Love is warm. Love transcends the expectations I have for it. Love celebrates me.

All this while, everyone I loved, it was a bit conditional if I think about it. Whether to make me feel less lonely or to heal my inner child, I gave love because it gave me something in return. It took me just three months of him to figure out that I am capable of loving someone selflessly too.

It’s amazing that my heart could hold all the love effortlessly. It’s incredible how I could be honest about my feelings to myself, without shying away from it all. I’m proud of the strength I yield within, to love without expectations.

And just like that, I had to let you go.

My closest friends told me I should stay away from you. I knew you were trouble too, you weren’t pretending otherwise either, but that only made accepting you easier. You lied and called yourself a liar, you missed work and called yourself irresponsible, you paused and called yourself lazy. I knew every part of you from the beginning and to me it sounded like you were exposing your broken soul for me to love. And love, I did. 

Maybe it wasn’t my responsibility to mend you, maybe we weren’t meant to be. Maybe it isn’t love when I put your needs over mine, maybe there’s nothing great in accepting bare minimum.

And maybe I should’ve known.

Or maybe I always knew.

The bruises from last night,

Glitter as if to say,

Look at the pretty blood,

It is all that you deserve,

I catch you staring,

That’s when I heard you use,

I love you,

Or do we all feel as lost,

Is it just me,

Looking through the window,

Only to see,

My world so still,

Is it just me,

Or do you also see,

Everybody moving so fast,

There is this yearning for a life that’s not mine. It’s as if I’m missing a vital part of me, as if there’s somewhere I have to be, and instead, I’m here feeling lost.

in memories and in stories,

lurking between the pages,

sneaking into my words

and I let you,

because this is the only way

As time passes by,

From weeks to months to years,

The pandemic casting its shadows,

Onto our beautiful lives,

My hope withers,

But my love for you doesn’t,

For holding your hand once more,

Thinking back, if I had known then, I would’ve hugged you tighter. Also, longer. I’ve read somewhere that we never know when we’re holding someone for the last time, so hold on tighter and tell them you love them. I thought I was one of those few who followed that. Boy, was I wrong. I wish I had stayed longer, I wish I hadn’t snapped at you and I wish I had held you tighter.

I know this distance is temporary. But as days go by, not knowing when we’ll meet again, I find myself swimming against the waves. Amidst all the what-ifs, I realised I had been too distracted to appreciate us. This realisation spreads sadness to the deepest chambers of my heart.