I was loyal to my promises, to the construction of my
words and to my thoughts. I thought it was safe to get
out of hiding and believe again; but it was not.
The birds that once sang every morning are now gone,
the laughs that filled the walls of my room turned to cries,
and my love, oh, my love is now my greatest distress.
And after I healed my frostbites from
your cold touch, your
stinging ghost followed
me home.
A cold-blooded guest that
was not welcomed in my
household.
It hummed all night,
it visited me in my sleep
It crawled in my bed
and whispered in a deep
voice all the words that
would make me weep
all night long.
I glance at the mirror, coldly.
I shiver.
I did not plan for this, I thought. I did not plan to throw my heart on a ledge in hell, causing it to burn and turn to ashes while watching it slowly evanish into the burning breeze, and walk away heartlessly. I did not plan for this.
And I don’t know what’s worse.
The fact that I felt everything. Every last stinging pain, and every gasp for air.
Or the fact that I feel nothing now. Is it worse? Or is it better?
Well, I don’t know what’s better either.
I take one last look at the mirror, smile, and then fade away.
The mirror did not smile back.
You were the knife
that i used to stab
myself with, and that
my love, is love.
I admit, there was a time when all I wanted was to belong to a man. To wear that diamond ring on my left hand, and wrap my tiny body around his chest. However, circumstances forced me to change my mind.
It is funny how men can never enjoy the feeling of being eumoirous; they believe that they are forced to make mistakes in order to enjoy their lives. Some men enjoy infidelities to the point where they refuse to admit that they are wrong. As much as we give out second chances (which are no longer called second) it reached a point where it does not really matter how many chances you give out, because some of them will never change. Like literally, never. You have to know that apologies will not give back a woman her faith and trust in you. You have to know that you were the one who has let her heart die a very slow death. Shedding each hope like leaves, until one day there were none. No hopes. Nothing remained. You ruined that huge canvas by caring so much on how you felt about it, and not how your significant other did. Those paint drops on the edge that you thought will go unnoticed, are more important than the whole canvas because they symbolize a whole different meaning of the painting, whereas the whole canvas suggests another different content. I’m able to examine the beautiful lie, but the painful truth can never go unnoticed.
Do not channel your infidelities into art, and deceive the public to think that I was the one who ruined the painting. Watch out for paint drops the next time you draw a canvas of your lies.
As I am paddling my flimsy boat in the ocean, I pretended to forget the details of memories that you reminisced so I
could appear nonchalant, but the ocean kept spitting out new secrets that I tried to push back down with my scull.
I hold aversion towards the ocean,
for now it holds repulsive reminiscences that which I don’t want to recall, and attempt to neglect.
But every time I glare at it, a wave of unwelcomed memories return, a willing to destroy myself urges within me because you made me believe that there is nothing to salvage, and that my heart shall be left to rot in waste.
I had to strangle my amorous soul to death, It was only way to defy
the undeniable pain that the ocean has caused.
I needed a new born malevolent soul that held aversion towards the ocean, and you.
But I didn’t forget then,
I haven’t forgotten now,
and I never shall.
c
Salma 