My heart aches and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk.
English poet. The opening lines of the poem.
Conscientiously. That is how much I loved him. Sometimes, I had to step back from the wonderful world that was him. I had to step back and analyse if it was real, if I was experiencing it because of how great, how surreal, how wonderful it all was. Even at the time, trying to grasp what was happening seemed so hard. Life seems easier when we can make sense of it. However, he made me realise that it was not always about the tangible things, the things one can touch, feel and make sense of. Sometimes, all beauty and true living lay in the things we could not explain; our dreams, desires, and our greatest loves. I thanked God that I was able to accept him -one of the unreal beauties of my world, this world. I thanked God for his every breath. This is why it hurts now, remembering that day. That day when this naturally weaved love was ripped at its fragile seams.
It was a hot November afternoon after I had written my last examination for the year. Mentally fatigued and exhausted, I eventually arrived home, sweaty and hungry. My white school shirt clung to the skin by my armpits. I normally disliked this sensation, however, welcomed it on this particular day, knowing that I would not have to experience it again in while. I opened the kitchen door to the sight of the morning’s unwashed dishes, bread crumbs littered on the counters and the smells of the breakfast infused with the heat of the day. I sighed, taking in the work and cleaning up that lay before me. I had arrived home first, so it was my duty to clean. I dragged my –what felt like gaunt- stomach to the fridge to pour myself a glass of cool apple juice dilute with water, just the way I liked it. It was the only way to curb thirst in such heat. I could almost feel the tiny beads of sweat freeze in their downward trickle on my forehead. I made my way to my room, which was one of the coolest places in the entire house, and slumped on the black-and-cream striped carpet of the floor, leaning against the side of my bed. It was then that I whipped out the small Nokia phone and logged onto Facebook. It was then that it all changed.
My browsing and checking of his profile came to an abrupt halt when I saw his status. “I have arrived in AUSTRALIA, who thought this would be… nyc I miss ma baby tho. Hang in their babes.” I remember then how time suddenly stood still while I sat on the ground staring blankly at the small black phone that had suddenly become the bearer of my ache. The clock continued ticking; the dishes in the kitchen continued waiting, time went on. It continued moving, but I did not move with it. I don’t know how long I sat there for, waiting for my body to do something other than continuing to sit and stare. It was as though self and body where torn apart and none could command the other.
Then came the heavy breathing and thereafter the laughter, the painful cynical laughter and the crying, crying until it hurt so badly. Who was I to him and why did he even bother? “Why?” the only word that escaped my mouth thereafter. I had never hurt so much over anybody and my heart ached, “a drowsy numbness pained my sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk” and no, he was not referring to me.
andulkaphoto
snowghoul
baratheonpilled
areudirty
vaporwave
