She didn’t mourn during the last rites. Numb with bereavement, she stood motionless.
They lowered his body into the earth and therewith buried her spirit.
She had not wept at all in days. They shook her, wailed, brought forth memories of him, but to no avail.
She had lost the will to feel…
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To our beautiful little home.
The overwhelming familiarity made my steps heavier.
Each step killing me a little.
I started losing parts of me.
At every step something went missing, an eye, a hand, a leg, my shoulder, nose, ears, arms, thighs, face…
Every step took away a part of me.
When I reached your doorstep, our doorstep, there was just one thing left of me.
The faint throbbing of an aching heart.
And when I let it in, it crushed every ounce of me within seconds.
I was a goner the minute I let my guard down.
It was as if the consequence I so feared were unraveling in front me at the speed of light.
And the blow… Oh, it was just too fatal.
I took a deep breath, again, in search for some solace. Ha, all in vain.
Standing there, in the middle of the square, no one could tell the tornado inside.
People indulged in the hustle and bustle of their own lives.
Old couples holding hands walking in the silence of their love.
Young couples fighting over a trivial deal.
Children rushing to school.
Mothers scolding kids.
Father rushing to earn the bread and butter…
Standing there in the middle of the square, no one, absolutely no one, could tell there was a tornado whirling within.
The calm facade camouflaging the crumbling structure.
Yes, life is poetry.
And I just hugged the soil beneath my feet.
We’re afraid to face ourselves.
We’re afraid of what it might do to us,
Even worse, what we might never be able to do, ever again.
Once the truth is spilled from our lips,
Ones ugliness is made known.
We feed ourselves with pride and then with guilt.
We revolt harmony,
We treat it like we would an enemy.
But why should it matter?
We do what we think we should.
We do what we must.
And in doing so there should be no remorse,
Only contentment, that we did what we truly wanted.
There’s great joy in being who you truly are.
No matter how crude, lonely, gruesome, painful it gets.
It’s a beautiful melody when we reveal the true ugliness of our soul.
It brings a very evident change in us, celebrates our liberty and all that we are, is made known to all and sundry.
He was like the wind. The wind that caresses you before it passes you by.
He was the empty night sky. From where I see him, the stars don’t shine anymore.
He was the midnight lamp. The one that goes out when you’ve still got a little more of yourself to pour out.
He was the rose. He was also the thorn that pierced through.
He played with cards. With hearts. And anything that would wreck lives.
She saw a bed of roses at her feet. She was deceived. For they turned into nails…
And steams of blood ran across.