someone else’s stories

•September 6, 2011 • Leave a Comment

you get upset when i forget the little details of what you like, what you hate, what you eat, what you don’t. i buy you the wrong chocolates, fill in other people’s names in your stories, and forget to phone you on our important days.

i blame it all on a faulty memory.

what i don’t tell you is that my memory is not sieve-like, but instead overfull. it doesn’t keep losing your stories; it’s just holding someone else’s.

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strength

•September 4, 2011 • Leave a Comment

i was the strongest person i knew. my heart was guarded by the knowledge that there was no-one else in the world stronger than me.

if you’d tried to wrestle the clasps open around my heart, you would’ve lost. if you’d used your wit to try pick the lock open, you would’ve eventually thrown away your tools.

it wasn’t strength i should’ve feared.

instead, it was your kindness, your gentleness that was my downfall. taken by surprise, i opened myself up to you voluntarily, generously. it was me, all me.

this is me screaming

•September 3, 2011 • Leave a Comment

thisismescreamingabouteverythingthatmakesmemad:
aboutpicturesofchildrenstarvinginsomalia
aboutrealchildrenstarvinginsomalia
aboutthejerkthatcutmeoffintraffictoday
aboutthetimeihadtowaitforacallcenteroperatorforawholetwohours
aboutthestupidmuzakthatplayedforthetwohours
aboutthemanwhokickedhisdogasiwalkedpasthimonthewaytotheshops
aboutglobalwarming
abouthavingtorestrictmywateruse
aboutnotbeingabletofindnailclipperswhenineedthem
aboutthewaymyparentsmanipulateme
aboutselfishteenagegirlswhobreakeachotherdowntomakethemselvesfeelbetter
aboutmybrokendvdplayer
aboutthegeyserthatshutsoffinthemiddleofmyshowers

butimmostmadaboutthefactthatimmadaboutallthesethings
andyourenotheretotellmeitsgoingtobeokay

we talked about secrets once

•September 2, 2011 • Leave a Comment

we finally had someone else to share our secrets with.

you hauled out a battered tin box, wallet thin, from a chest pocket. how’d i missed its bulge, i don’t know. but i’d felt its hardness before, when you’d let me embrace you, and wondered what was covering your heart.

dented, slightly rusted. it was the kind that you only find now in antique stores pre-facebook, pre-twitter, pre-the days when secrets were so yesterday. you set out the contents before me.

i loved you for opening up the box. i loved you for not being able to look me in the eyes as you explained one thing after another. i promised i wouldn’t share what they were. i won’t now.

you wanted to know what my secrets were.

i opened my purse, and took out a small plastic bag, the type you keep ID photos in. as i placed it on the table, the shards of mirror inside the bag caught some of my reflection. that was my secret, me.

then the shards caught your face as you moved over to see it.

i see it now as a sign.

i burnt down the fields

•August 31, 2011 • Leave a Comment

i burnt down the fields.

they were so golden, a sun ray sprinkled over the once-green growth.
like a flock of birds rooted in the open sky, stalks swooped this way, that way.

so close to harvest-time, so restless.
so close to the end. or only the beginning.

like words caught in the middle of an argument, they floundered this way, that way; to you, to me.

i burnt down the fields for you.

the reason why

•August 30, 2011 • Leave a Comment

one day, you’ll find this blog and wonder why i kept this a secret from you. why other people were allowed to read these posts, but you, the most important you, were kept in the dark.

you’ll start to understand when you read more. this ‘you’ is you, but at the same time, it never was you. and at the same time, even though it was never you, everything here, every incident, every word, every feeling.. it was all you.

you tried calling.

•August 30, 2011 • Leave a Comment

You’d called.

I got a text message saying that someone with your number had tried to get hold of me. You’d left a voicemail.

You’d called.

That same text message didn’t tell me what you’d said, how’d you said it. It didn’t tell me what I’d feel when hearing your voice, what I’d think upon listening to your thoughts. It didn’t warn me that I’d cry afterwards.

You’d called.

But even though I missed your call doesn’t mean I didn’t know. I’d stared at the cell phone screen, lighting up and vibrating with every ring. I’d kept on staring as the screen fell silent for the last time. And I was still staring at it when a new text message came in, telling me what I already knew.