In Retrospect.

A little every day is beyond my understanding. I cannot understand parts and bits of things, of love, of family, of myself. Within me so much is churning, like an empty gyre. . people think they love me, or they know me. I cannot get it within myself the idea of being with any of them. Everything is a blur. Love its intricacies its ghosts, its silence is the most painful, its indifference is a pain I cannot live with. Today, when h. said the word forgiveness.  I remembered it, I remembered that feeling of having forgiven, but I cannot remember how it was done. I cannot remember forgiving. I do not know how to forgive. All those People who pushed themselves against me had themselves filled with me and then gave me nothing. They only had me. And yet they never gave anything except those scarred memories of having had them in my life. I could not have understood if I had not known them from before. But karma is not taking me to them. They are not my piece of cake to be celebrated they are just those sticky glues in those pages of panic. In those times of desire I thought I knew myself I knew what I had and wanted.  I knew better than my intelligence. Better than my better judgement that they needed me. But did I ever not need to be loved to be called theirs to be called so that I could know that I was loved.  I never knew what I had done to cause those exasperated breaths those tired eyes. Those disrespectful tones those unlovable glances I did not know what had I ever done to cause those eyes which glistened for me to roll away those thoughts and feel nothing for that matter, never been loved, never been lost more than those birds which never returned. There was never a time when I had him. I had forgiven him before and he had left me for her. And he still wants to leave me. But he knows he cannot. Or maybe he can. Maybe he knows these painful eyes of mine better than I know them. When he creates those lovable nothings for me. When he no longer wants to know how I am. When he no longer wanted to love me. When he no longer had me. When he no longer wanted to touch me. He left. Without acknowledging that there could be a person within who could crumble when he left. When he left I was no longer the same. I simply was.

I never knew he never loved me. Maybe he did. Maybe he does. Maybe he still wants to. Maybe he still does not want to. I would never know because he would never tell. He could never see me ever if he knew I was never his to know. He said thank you to himself. They are both the same. They both want nothing and everything all at once. I cannot believe that I did not know that I fell in love with the same person, different bits of the same person. Different appearances of that same man who breathes within me. With whom I wanted to be since I laid my eyes on those clouds on those fiery lustful eyes. And then I was never myself ever. I was sometimes her or sometimes him. I was sometimes cooing away my time. I was sometimes living another person’s dream. Another person’s pain. He no longer pains me enough to break me within. He breaks himself every time he traps himself within he tries to push me through those steep walls of his mind. Push me so that he has to know that he loves me. He never has to endure what I go through what I go through every time he pushes me out of his life. Then he said he would try his best never to hurt me. So he asked me to stay and got up from that shack and left. And I look at the windows at those walls at those memories where he loved me. Where he made love to me. And I saw him returning. But he never was the same. Every time he returned a part of his heart was with someone else. He had returned home to fill the blood in those heartbeats which were meant for others to listen to. To fill those tears and ears with stories so that he could tell them and write them on others hands. And he left. Again. He returned to make me feel that I was never lost. At the same place I stood near the bend of those very long steep roads waiting for him, he returned with fire in heart and he returned with another girl in his arm. And I still continued to wait for the man to return as me.

I longed for myself to return to me. But I never did. I sat there listening to my new stories. Listening to myself talk about everyone but him. He who had left. Who had never returned. I wait for him to return with empty arms. I wait for her to return with all those blankets of warm glories, and warm tales which she gave away, which she gave way. And he never got them back. I could be a both. A bi. A nothing. Everything is nothing after all. We live within emptiness when we try to live with all. We need that one self. I thought. I guess I was wrong. We needed them all

Who took me away. They took him away. They took me away. They took her away.

I want them all back.

But while he sleeps soundly. I lay awake. Waiting.

So that those voice in my head never lie about his love for me. This heart knows that he loves. And it waits for him to love himself.