Goodbye.

This blog has been dormant for close to a year. I don’t have a need to find solace in excesses of words any more. The world is bigger now, and sentences are precious.

I’ll keep this floating around the interwebs, like an old, half-filled diary at the back of a drawer. Until I decide what more it can be used for.

 

Needs

As I reached for the doorknob, he spoke.

“Don’t leave.”

I turned around to face him. Imprisoned within these walls for days, bound by ties whose existence I had no say in, I had become all too aware of the frustration that was seeping through my rapidly eroding patience. Night and day had melted into a continuous gelatinous mass that I waded through with leaden steps- slowly, laboriously. I had finally come through, to what I thought was the end of it. I needed air. Yet his iron grip on my will remained. It was enough to ground me in my tracks every time I stood up to go.

He reached out for me. I felt my skin shrink from his touch like a plastic bag shriveling in the heat of a flame. The door was less than an arm’s length away, but I remained standing where I was. He took hold of my shoulders and tried to steer me away.

“Don’t go, don’t leave me. We’ll watch a movie together, okay? And we’ll talk- we should talk. I miss our conversations. Just don’t go, not now.” His voice rose to a high pitch, slicing slivers off my patience.

How was I to explain that the lack of words between us was not what made me want to escape, if even for a few hours? I was grateful that he didn’t pour himself into my silences as well. His mere presence leached my will to live. I felt old and tired around him, trapped in the haze of the grey area between staying and leaving, between the nebulous idea of a right and a more concrete wrong.

“I need to go- you’ll manage on your own. You were fine before I came, weren’t you?”

My words barely mattered to him. He had convinced himself of his need for me, and there was nothing I could do to twist his thoughts around. I felt the tips of his thumbs digging into the soft space above my collarbones; his animal strength seemed at odds with his wheedling, his persistent, piteous begging for me to stay.

I felt my shoes lose their grip on the floor as he tried to drag me away from the door.

“Don’t go, please don’t go.”

His high-pitched whine chewed my nerves and gnawed at my resolve and made his pleading irresistible.

“It’s time- “

His knees buckled and I sank to the floor with him, leaving my unfinished sentence hovering in the air above us. I grasped his hands as he dissolved into tears, and stroked his hair as he quaked and sobbed and mumbled like a child.

“Let’s get you to bed and get you some tea, and we’ll watch a movie together. I’m not going anywhere.”

I stood up and gently pulled my father to his skeletal feet. He swayed as he stood, a tottering column of bones, the remaining tufts of his white hair clinging to his forehead like soggy snow.

I turned back and took a hold of the door key, locking the world outside behind me.

Icewater

The pale braches of winters past
Draw shadowy cracks on barren ground
Littered with yellowed promises
Of journeys to the stars

These tired pages creased with time
Are heavy with scars of fading ink
And the watermark of separation
Runs through every line

Return to these walls once more
And melt the frost on the panes
Let it flow and then run dry
In my crevices and folds

Lies.

You adore my shiny slivers of insanity,

Mere splinters that caught in my weave

When my being was hewn from madness

 

 I charm you with my quiet ways

While flurries of words drag their nails

On the echoing inside of my skull

 

My evasiveness lures you into my arms

And my heart sinks through my bones

As my pores recoils from your touch

 

My saccharine crust thins on your tongue,

Bruising your mouth and making you run

To something more palatable

Waiting.

Pick me out of a crowd of painted faces and read into my sleep-drunk eyes and tangled hair a passionate wildness that does not exist.

Drown in my shallow depths as I string together convoluted sentences that mean nothing, words that I use to shade our days with the sepia tones of yesterdays being deliberately created for tomorrow.

Lie with me in the halo of our entwined arms and breathe as our country falls to pieces around us.

Give me something more than these stubborn, silent distances caked with dust. Give me something more- promises that splinter with a whisper, delicate threads of melted sugar.

No.

There is a lot that I don’t want to give up, most of all the luxury of disappearing when I want to. Sometimes, I want to cut off and shut down and curl up in the corner between the headboard and the wall and pretend that the world does not extend beyond the hypotenuse formed by my folded legs.

You won’t understand.

I don’t like to be touched when I’m upset. I build a wall around myself and feel like screaming at the touch of somebody trying to comfort me. I don’t want to be comforted. I want to be left alone, to dissect my pain to see what it is made of and become familiar with it- to convince myself that the fragments of my agony are nothing to be afraid of.

You won’t understand that.

There are times when I don’t want to speak. The effort of choosing words to string together seems like a difficult conquest. I want to exist in the comfortable silence of those who have said enough and do not recoil from the end of conversations. I want our silences to be enough. I don’t want to need words.

You, with your frantic need to pour words into the spaces between lines, won’t understand.