I continue to look at the road after things are long gone, and this is how I meet you.
A child, that’s what I should have been, but I was one attending secondary school. People see you in places alone but in my case, dreams led me to you.
Did we say hello at first glance? This I cannot recall, but I knew from the very start that you were different. Your manner and the way you speak, you cannot be from this place.
We might have met at other places, but the park is the venue I remember best. We would sit on the bench and talk. You had a way of loosening my tongue, despite my reticent nature. Your voice, it was a low hum, calm and strange. It follows me even after I wake.
And then, you vanished.
Or maybe, I did the vanishing after all.
I am angry, incredibly angry, at my failing memory. Desperate for a clue, often trying to understand how our communication broke. When did I lose my way? They say that people of your kind disappear with age and time, when the need for a companion no longer exists but how dare you, how dare you share so many moments and carelessly disappear afterwards?
You were a phantom and I thought of you everyday.
Are you still waiting at the park? Because I no longer know how to get there.
In the darkness, I still see you.
Though your soothing voice is slowly leaving and your wise smile fading, you remain undeniably special to me.
Loneliness is dropping a stone into the void, waiting for it to hit the bottom but only hearing the thud of one’s chaotic heartbeat.
Darkness of the mind, just an inkblot of poison fills the jar.
Undo the blinds, can you still see the faint sunshine that filters through.
Light and dark, unmatched playmates in shadowy playgrounds.
Run your hand along this length of rope or the metallic cool of a gun.
Will it be tonight, that the fingers will curl into the familiar hollow and pick up.
Will it be tonight, that the phone will be switched off and eyes shut tight.
Will it be tonight, that there will be a note left behind.
Please don’t let it be tonight, or any other night.
I’m here praying that you’ll live through these terrifying times.
Please hold on.
Don’t let your starlight eyes lose their glimmer in the dark.
What a friend you turned out to be, one I never quite imagined at all.
It is the thought of you that keeps me from my craft, impressing a desire to write of our friendship. Admittedly, it is not only today you occupy, but the various yesterdays.
Friend of a friend, connection loosely strung over the social network. Converse we do, and we find ourselves in an interesting situation — while mostly strangers, we are much alike.
Gradual texts of a growing length, subjects aplenty. Music, books, and even the question of life itself. Who would guess that these two reticent humans would find each other?
In real life we hardly meet, constant lurkers of the online space. Yet I forget not the day you came for a significant event when another thirty would not. Despite the traffic and the pouring rain, your arrival meant a great deal to me. The only one of them all.
You asked then confused at the scene, why did you invite me here?
I replied poorly in my concealed gratitude, why not?
Why not, truly.
Distance increased over the years, and while our speakings dipped with the trough and peaks of life’s tidal wave, what wonders a simple message would do. A reconnect, tardy as some may be.
It is possible that I may never be coherent enough to express your importance in my life, especially when we are not close in relations in the end. But bless you I do, in these secret writings and feelings.
Un du evari’nya ono varda.
May the stars watch over you.
Play hide and seek with me, the favourite game of every child.
Teach me how to find not with the eyes but the heart.
There is a warmth lingering in this stillness that I am in want for.
Stay, please stay in gentle patience until my fingertips align themselves with yours.
Lean in, whisper goodnight to the flecks of light outside.
Know that home lies in the crook of my collarbone.
Don’t forget how angry injustice makes you feel. It’s terrible how crimes need to be judged by severity, when wrongs against humanity are the scum of the earth.
A woman’s sense of pride is scorned, when one speaks of indecent glances. Women are pages in the catalogue, perused and felt up to the corners. Eyes are made to travel, don’t go feeling special or personally targeted.
We are bodies made of stardust, and some take more in the name of entitlement. A skirt too short, a figure too svelte, it must be her fault that hands desire to lean in for an impolite touch.
Girls are indecisive, they say, girls know not what they want. Others take their voices and speak in false mellifluous promises. It’s easy to know what they need, turn their loud no-s into secret yes-s. Catch one alone, in a crowd if there is a sense of daring.
In this world, the voice of a female falls on deaf ears. The wrongness committed has become a norm and there is no need to raise a fuss, unless the case strikes as strange or unexpected. Late nights and teenager years are too ordinary to be given a second thought.
Yet it remains unjust, that in an era of spaceships and underwater kingdoms half the population have to be afraid simply for being a woman. Things shift in time, be it gold dust or night constellations, and so I will continue to hope for better tomorrows for the sake of the future generation.
Though my mind leaves me, please know that my heart has always been here with you. Don’t let my wandering mind scare you.
People are afraid of being alone. Visit the city, that’s how one will see.
The sole ones rush quickly, earphones in, phone on the ear, the downcast face of shame. In a world so connected, solitude is a sin and loneliness is the immoral conclusion perceived.
Or must it be? For being alone happens to be my affection.
This is my secret: that in a space colossal and imbued with human energy, I stand still to watch it all. Instead of running and dashing about, my feet grow roots. I wish to recognise the life of this immense atmosphere.
On the park bench, on the windy pedestrian bridge, these places find my soul slow to a halt. I appear in their memory a flitting image, but to me they stay a little longer. These are lives by the abundant and they are stories I will never unravel. These moments can make me weep.
If I could, I would be in want to touch as many lives as possible. There’s incredible potential in one, how much more shall there be in a group? Crowds overwhelm me, but in my staring I am hopelessly enchanted. I cannot comprehend this enormity despite my best efforts.
I am happily alone in the city, but if you are willing — would you watch the city with me?