Is this real for you? Because the more I keep running from you, the more I keep hiding from the truth. That we are professional heart breakers and menders; who swim in motion with our emotions but fail to dive deep into their oceans. We are like a freeway—express and free. But like opposing lanes, we never meet despite the proximity that we are right beside each other. That makes me wonder whether there’s a possibility that we truly never existed and if we indeed existed at all, what did we have? That makes me insist on knowing, next time, if we are real or maybe just another passage off some olden story. For the more you pull me towards you, the more its a bother as your rope loosens and makes me weak throughout the journey. For many weeks, we were like a beautiful morning; started out bright and optimistic. Then by the end of the day, we were torn, weary and lonely. And if you had let me be, you would have remembered that I was good at the trade. But you were better at breaking my creations, making me guilty for the way you had my castle crumbling.
The hall in which they learn is a makeshift. But as soon as the lesson begins, we shift from the slum to a place of poise and grace. Their moves in their dusty cute little pink tutus aren’t hasty but calculated. And their faces glow like the imaginary stars and flowers they are ‘picking’ in the dance. Almost immediately I know, certainly, that theirs is a bright future to be yielded, a bright torch to be carried forth to the world. Tip-toeing; the girls lead with zeal while the boys try to keep up on their heels. It’s a clear show of longing to amaze and excel and find freedom, through dance. Class only lasts a few hours: happiness for most of them and to others; the safest haven. What a burst of inspiration for my heart to handle from the most unexpected quarters.
I am the sunshine and you are the rain. When we mash-up, your grey skies and my blue makes a reverie of colors. When night falls, we become one—only separated by distance and invigorated by our trance. When you are missing, I know you’ll be back as the stars serve as a constant reminder. Shining bright, and sending a sign that without you, I must suffer not. Even though, without you I suffer a lot.
Please hold out your hand, body or soul, and reach over to my side of the universe. Lie next to me silently and don’t leave, but listen to these verses I wrote for you. For even before I met you, they were meant for you. To dry my tears, lock out all your fears. For even when we are far apart, our spirits mustn’t be far apart but near. And even if it’s stark dark, you’ll see and feel me. You’ll realize that I am all yours. But you fail to see—that you don’t need anybody else, and that all you needed was my foolish heart.
From a land far away and above, he watches over me. It’s hard to understand or explain how he does it but when the London birds sing and the Kenyan drums beat like in Dakar, he feels me. When his flights delay, soar high or his favorite record plays, he reminisces of me. And sometimes, in the hour that memories subside, he tells all his secrets to the wind, which in turn travels miles just to whisper into my ear—that he misses me. And when the sun rises, nobody knows but I adore him the more. When the sun sets, it doesn’t matter because he’ll still wake up mad about me. It’s never like it used to be before, I am not shy anymore but different and open, the good-kind. Like a bird grasps daylight, I want to take flight into his world. For there, I am special and safe. And he’s the sightless bird flying above the skies, blind enough to watch over me.
If you let me, I will. Take care of you. Never lie to you. Always abide by our rules. Never lie alone, but next to you. And then I will let you … Love me. Hold me. Whisper into my ear. Sweep me off my feet. Then back down to walk on the roads we drove down. For this love is my vehicle.
I think about you. I write for you because you are the hues of my expression. You are the healer to my blues. You are the teether when it’s hard to bite at life’s hurdles. You are the teacher who taught me how to tie my shoes. You cool me off when shit hits the fan and you school me beyond the streets and sheets of love. That to have; I have to give. And that to forgive, I have to start with setting myself free from the pain of yesterday and get ready for what the future will pay. Who are you gift of conveyance? For you take me to a place where no one cares if I am the best but everyone dares to excel and be the best they can be. It’s a place of clairvoyance; where ears translate melodies into words and eyes anticipate colours that burn into unwritten vocabulary.
You are sanctified. For those who don’t write in you, find grace and light in your art. From the sincerity and gaiety of those who confide in you; we are inspired. For the power of your words encourage all, from the poor in belief to the rich in conviction. In you, we see visions of truth and truce. In you we find hope in desperation. For you allow us to talk to those who won’t open their doors for us but will read and feel us when we articulate in hope for reparation. You allow us to connect with the ones we have just as much as the ones we lost. You teach us to let go of regret and to smile at our dismal pasts. We are the pillar of tomorrow and you are the bolstering cement we write inside of waiting for it to dry so that one day the world may read the inerasable.
For all the things we did, for all the things I miss, for all the times we kissed, for all the lies you said, for all the love you gave, for all the stars we caught, for all the dreams we shared, for all the tears I fought and the ones I cried; for happiness or otherwise—thank you. You made me stronger.
I don’t know what it is but I know that my weekends are useless without you. It’s no use listening to The Weekend-Love through her, for I can’t get you out of my mind. I don’t know how I feel but you remind me of a distant dream I once had. That someone’s hues would fuse with mine and make me warmer and stronger. I don’t know how it feels because I can’t describe this but if I had to—it has something to do with how you make me calmer and better. I don’t know what you think of this intangible thing we share, this immeasurable thing we are feeding. I don’t know what I feel but when I close my eyes I only see you. And when I wake up in the morning I first smile because of you, then the light. And then I feel like I might want to explore something about you, I’d love to. Do you want me to? Fuck that—do you want to do this, with me? Let me know the truth, next time I see you.
I don’t want to be friends because I started loving you. Neither do I want nor am I ready to find someone else because I already found what I wanted in you. Later I could find all this in someone else or maybe not; so I will put this matter to rest—I am taking no chances. The glitches of our relationship were just typical of [many]. But what [isn’t] is your smile—that brings meaning to life. Lately I’ve realized that no other guy makes my temperature rise above ordinary like you do. No other makes missionary rise above boring like you do. None other makes my heart melt light like metal in an alchemy pot like you do.
I don’t want to say goodbye because in this scenario, valediction is no option. Not when I am the only one who ever made a notable cameo in your episode of love. It’s senseless and not fair if I don’t have you yet in all my possessions, you’re all I have. It’s clear that in this affair you’re the drug I can’t function without. Could we go back to where we used to be? Could we draw again from the inspirations we used to see vividly with our eyes closed and feel briskly without touch? Could I not worry much about your feelings for me? Because I am the schizophrenic; you’re not only my doctor and medicine but also what my psychic tells me is real amidst this insanity.
I don’t want to lie that you mean nothing to me because that’s old and am out of new tricks. Plus it doesn’t make any sense to keep playing with feelings like a game of cards. I can’t say that I don’t miss you calling my name and your kiss or your hugs but in fact, I miss everything about you, even the annoying habits and you hating on my uggs. Among quite a number of things, I miss your classy suits just as much as your ambitious pursuits. Out of all the guys I’ve seen, you’re the reason why I am sitting here waiting still. You’re the reason why we can both turn this hurt back into love. And if we don’t try then we’ll never know if maybe one day we could have turned this house into a home.
I woke up this morning with a smile on my face. I would walk for miles in search of an answer as to why but it’s simply because I am laced with grace and the gift of life. It’s the realization that I am not ordinary but special. I can lift you up. And you can support me and help me lurch forward. It’s the anticipation of what we can do together. It’s the saying goodbye to yesterday’s sorrows, mistakes and hesitation—moving onwards. It’s going by the spirit of today and what it has to give us in relation. It’s letting go of the past ghosts and embracing the lost joy of blessings around me—always abundant, new and fresh as the morning dew.