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6/11/2020

Always, always, always, fall on me safely.

Tonight we talk about death. You asked if I really think of myself as fat, as unattractive, as bad as I have been saying all along. You didn't remember that you are proud of being so small, of being wanted, of being someone whose worth also lies within her skin. I am not. I kept nodding and laughing because as long as I laugh, my eyes wont betray me. The darkness that dances and prances when my lids are closed is always there like an old friend. It doesn't lie.

The fan whirs slowly but the cold air picks it up and carries it all across the room. The sun strolls away from the gripping chase of the moon. How does it feel to be able to shine on your own? It seems to be in a hurry to walk next to the sun. How does it feel to be okay? It blocks the light and the sky dreads the time. But you can fall back on me safely. I don't shine and that comforts your eyes.

If I close my eyes and my ears and my mouth and the ringing sound comes in and fades away after a few seconds I can imagine the sound of the waves from blurry memories. The sea rages, yet the fish net stays. If you were a great shark I would be the net. You know you won't fall for me but I'm always there and ready to catch you from a violent wave lest you get thrown inside the storm. Once it calms you can find your way out, and I'm staying still, and another would bounce on me. What if I'm tired of being a safety net? I can't be tired of giving comfort. There is no trust within to let loose.

[corgeats]

“Osaka castle in Full bloom 🌸🏯“ by | Antonio Sbarra

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21/10/2020

Everything is the least I can do.

Tonight we talk about death. My muscles go taut under pressure. We hoist heavy reminders of the past dirtied by our memories. The passage is narrow, one person on each end, two pairs of arms to push and pull. Everything is a still image. Your breath goes hitched and sweat glides down every inch of your skin. You won't move tomorrow morning, your blood vessels bursting into dark spots. We trudged through without resting.

I look down to the staircases we've passed. Everything seems unmoving yet different. We are halfway up. Is it unpleasant? Is it hard for you to pull this? I cannot call it 'this'. Behind our trembling strains we wish the flood would just come and swallow all. But it did come and it spared these things. It did swallow but not all that we want gone.

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20/10/2020

Through the crack and thick dark fog. A burn that seeps and poisons inside.

Tonight we talk about death. I cannot breathe yet again. Eyes shot open at three. Hours before finding out a fate, I cannot go back to sleep, heart beating in unrest. You called before. We've only been apart for two days, and my absence filled you with longing. How did we make it last year? How did I make it? It was the knowledge of your well being. Now it is undone, the spell shatters. A reaper might slip past us.

I held on the tiniest thread of hope. I never learn, yet another proof. Waited for the final hours. The thread turns out to be a handful of dog hairs. The spell shatters. A reaper slips past me.

In my blazer, buttoned up to the chin, waiting for a welcome never incoming. Your name rings loud on the tiny screen. Shivers run down the spasm. Your name stops ringing.

[corgeats]

17/10/2020

It's so much easier to stop breathing. I don't have to try.

Tonight we talk about death. I find it harder to stay awake with each vivid dream, colorless wings sprouting from my back, a single explosion bursting forth. Every breath is filled with burning molten lead. My eyes fight to keep receiving the light and process my surrounding. If I didn't know any better the silence would deafen my ears.

You woke up late and I cannot tell you off for that. I was far off in a place so familiar yet also not our home, and I cannot tell you how much I don't want to go back to our world. If believing makes sins real then I don't want to repent, I don't want to feel spent. Cold sweat doesn't run on my skin. I can feel the heat strangling me from behind, but I lay motionless, waiting for nothing. I don't want to return.

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13/10/2020

Muddled as can be, I cannot think straight with all these buzzing noises inside.

Tonight we talk about death. I wrote a long message to express what I have been feeling for these last few days, maybe rekindling the hope for a change. I never learn. A flying oil burst on my skin, on the left chest, and it hurt as it popped. It wasn't you. The pain remains, a red patch unsightly. The pain lessens.

Perhaps that is all I can do. Soothe my ego and rub the storm of worry. My eyes go out of focus from time to time, sharp jabs on my head. You told me your back is hurting again. Mine too, but I kept quiet. I want to wish, but I cannot have a want. I don't deserve anything.

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9/10/2020

How am I still here? Alive. With no purposes.

Tonight we talk about death. I woke up to a silent news. I have been kicked out of the group, my study non-resulting. Again and again I kept trying to fool myself with false hope. Again and again I am proven wrong.

All is my fault. My fault. Mine. You ask me why I can't talk normally but all courage is gone from my voice. Words are stuck in my throat. I cannot look you in the eyes. My apologies have no weight, I cannot make you proud. Again and again.

[corgeats]

8/10/2020

It's a spiral towards what, I have no idea.

Tonight we talk about death. I'm fighting tooth and nails for that shred of hope of being forgiven. You don't have the slightest clue, you think I'm doing alright. You lie on the bed and talk about your dreams. It's not that I have, it's that I will be successful. The sentence from your mouth, all written in vivid details. I cannot tell you I'm losing.

There was the smallest hope within me that I would make it on time. I did but also I did not. The world doesn't let me. I have tried my best. I had my faults but they cost me dearly. Now it's all my fault. I cannot tell you.

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7/10/2020

I hear children laughing. I keep seeing the past.

Tonight we talk about death. The drying rack leans against the furthest wall in the garage, beaten down by sun and pummeled by rain. How long has it been since we last used it? There is no dust, but imprints of a time long gone.

I don't remember pressing my hand onto the drying paint. Some children might be living on the other side. Their hand pressed on the wall. And they ask me, what have I learned? What have I learned?

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6/10/2020

I want people to see but I don't let them peek in.

Tonight we talk about death. What will happen to me, my father, my sister, our house when you're not here.

This is the same kitchen you've been standing in since twenty or so years ago. The same window sills and the same protective bars above the same kitchen top.

Now I'm standing there while you rest in bed. Every morning, 4 a.m. on the clock, and time turns to 7 a.m., and still I look out to the street from this window. From the place I'm standing, the street is inviting, as empty as the image of the future in my dreams. This is your everyday up until now. I had not been tall enough to stand in your place before. Now I do it anyway.

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