noor,
my amma still misses him. it doesn't make me angry anymore. it's human to miss something good. it's also human to not want what you miss. noor, you can have it both ways. it's okay.

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you hugged me when i wasn't myself
and the ability to not recover from this
hug will always leave me a little less
myself. im a ceramic pot. melted.
wilted in your hug. im art with my grief.
with this disorientation, im artsy.

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august 13, budhvaar

there’s something so disturbing about being hopeful, isn’t it? it doesn’t let you live a day in your grief. you dig it from under your feet and dispose it far off. you’re not a girl in her 20s, you’re a soldier’s wife who waits. you hope. you pray for your hope. you believe in your hope. you find reasons to stay in hope- it’s become your mother’s house- you always find reasons to stay.
it’s wonderful being a girl whose heart is pregnant with hope, isn’t it? you watch people with a lens that they can use to keep going, you think everything is going to be okay and maybe that’s how everything gets okay. you close the gap between your hope and belief and it gets okay one day. one day, your solider husband is back home. your heart finally gives birth to that hope as you wake up next to him, and your mother’s house sounds like sunday from your childhood.

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august 12, mangalvaar

the pungency of being alive fades, it doesn’t elude, it is worn out- pain ages faster than happiness, something tells me. the ability to overcome is so funny. it is in the little things that you attach hope with- your mother’s well-being, your father’s memory from when he used to be a good dad, the sun rise, and sometimes, you even over do your ownself and attach it with sunset, the waning moon, a less broken heart of a stranger who smiled at you at the subway or you find reasons to hold onto, when your smile isn’t returned- maybe they didn’t see. maybe, they are occupied in their head. maybe, they have exhausted their hope for the day. it’s okay. it always is okay but it’s more okay today because someone might need it.

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the carcass of circadian rhythm of thoughts.
/caption/

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noor, you'd meet people before you'd meet him and there may be this one person who'd walk by you in the most dreamy manner. he'd have walked by you a 50 times but something will change the 51st time. you'd long, you'd pray, and you'd hope that he becomes who you deserve, that he fights, and that he is your destination. you will want to make it happen. but, don't. noor, you'd want to look at him and touch his face to memorise it like the map of your country, you'd want to see his best times, and hug his bad times, but don't.
let him go, noor. hope is not your best friend against love. he'd not change, noor. he wouldn't fight. protect your heart, noor. dream a life with him. live it on repeat. love him in your thoughts, all the years that you can see with him in your head and then, cut the cords. it's okay to want it and not try for it. amma did it too. it's okay.

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daddy, i have been trying.
i have been trying to write to you
since last august,
forgive you since the august of 2016,
but my anger is german, it’s dein.
it was also sylvia’s father.
you’re sylvia’s father too, daddy
but i love you, in fragments, in doubts,
in moments i try cutting cords and
pretend i can’t imagine your face,
i love you, daddy.
sylvia’s father also returned in the monster.
he beat her up. he went around.
daddy, please don’t come back.
i love you but i am done with you.
we can be both, daddy. be both, daddy.
perhaps, i really can’t imagine your face anymore.
i have also stopped looking at mine now.
we look alike but i have undone you
from my blood. what do i call you, daddy?
you’re not even a name to me.
but, i love you. i love you from my windowsill.
you’re not the star id pray on.
you’re not the fallen lash i will pick up.
you’re not the parent i will choose,
but for this life, i love you, daddy.
you’re my biggest lesson.
you’re my bravest recovery.
you’re my greatest agony and
it doesn’t hurt.
today, i love you. today, i am better.
the last of you in me ages today,
you’re not weak, you’re old.
it’s also your birthday.
happy birthday, daddy.

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