There are memories I have, which are vague and fleeting. They cut me as much as they sew the emotions in. I live in nostalgia of what could have never existed. I failed to register it in the same light though. My memories don’t inhabit the same thoughts as yours. Its an unimaginable feeling. Perhaps I have fallen in love and I know no language to express it well. I am dumbfounded. I am numb. Once upon a time, I had so many things to say. Now I have nothing to say to you. Just like you have nothing to say to me. Yet I want to say some things but words are a foreign entity to me, and stories I weave are certainly not defaulting to what we used to talk about and the way we used to.
Call it anxiety or despair. Call it love or things far from love. Call it whatever. It is as intriguing and as disturbing at the same time. Blurry thoughts. Deep brreaths. Light. Darkness. All prevail. It is like there are some aspects of light from the window, that I do not really understand. And not understanding it, well, haunts me.
Quiet often I choose to take a long walk or a nap under the trees or a drive by the fast lanes in the company of incongruous silence. Still it stays. I have been reduced to a thing that only thinks about you; and do so in the quiet human desperate way. Last night I could not sleep till four in the morning. It is absurd the way I love you.
Work is busy and demanding and I am crammed up with ideas all day, yet I cannot seem to dislodge the visions of the way you would smile at me sometimes. It tumbles and violates all the necessary, makes way for itself fairly arrogantly and stays there as if it is its own territory, as if you have a claim. Then everyday, seamlessly, in many countless ways, I convince myself of ourselves and then sack the idea into the pit. Why cant we pack all of this and tame it into some kind of happiness we can together live? It is odd. This stubborn independence we all subscribe to. It strips us of love and leaves everything futile, mundane and inadequate. My wall is down; guards low and it is crazy that now, I don’t even resent it.
Words here are shrieking in pain, yet I do not intend to share any of it with you. No more. Nothing more.