Friday, 8 January 2016

mythology of longing

 Remember me, I whisper. Our hands press against each other hard enough to bruise. Your fingertips bury themselves in mine like a promise. We’ve built an entire mythology of longing and sleepless nights.

 You’re pulling back. You’re telling me about storms and skinned knees and all of them resemble the blackest parts of me. But I only want to save myself, and to save you and to reach home. I’m tired of being on the run , like a fugitive running away from something disgraceful and half-forgotten. We’re ghosts, we’re rising scars , drifting away like dust. It’s a fitting punishment for a monster – to hold a loved one in its arms knowing it would pass months until they will see each other again.

  Maybe if I was a different person. Maybe if the world willed it. Instead, we’re half a country away, only the starless sky between us. Please, unroot me from my longing.  The rooms I am in are so lonely, they beg for your haunting. My darkness begs for your hands. It can even trace history. Here was hurt. Here was love. Here was us, in the middle of creation. 

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