You scream into the void and it sings you back a lullaby.
Apologies are my intestines twisted into tiny balloon animal figures. I hand them out to people walking on the sidewalk like cheap pamphlets, and when a stranger takes one in their hands, I dissolve in them like a tablet in my mother’s feeble mouth, trapped under the guise of a remedy that’s going to save her soul. The child in me does not understand rage. It understands the sound of doors slammed shut, its heart thrumming against its walls, pieces of glass scattered across the floor like the stars it could never identify in the sky and countless meals that feel too stale for the gaps between its teeth. Because an apology is the underside of my tongue that screams anger in a few hundred languages but speaks sorries in a million more. It is the C section scar on my mother’s belly that she rubs with aromatic oils, muttering a silent prayer for her children who carry heavy schoolbags on their backs wearing sackcloth and ashes. My heart and the world don’t fit each other so I wrap it in a page of the Times newspaper with obituary columns and dissolve into the crowd.
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*clink, clink* it's an announcement. More like a fair exchange.
Hello!
So i thought, since I've an audience here, I'd do a letter exchange? The art of writing letters is so pristine and I personally, adore writing letters.
So i thought, maybe I'd write letters to absolute strangers on the internet?
*Read the caption!*
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I hurt you intentionally and again and again because i know how to hurt you where you'd take the knife. Maybe I hurt you because I know you'll be hurt. I hurt you because infliction comes with the easy possibility of never having to be good to you again and hurting you is easier than loving you but then again we only hurt the ones we love.
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Like you're holding sand between your fingers,
Slowly slipping away,
But hold me nonetheless.
The monster under my bed calls me.
It calls itself loneliness.
So when you don't hold on,
And let me go,
I snuggle under the bed,
And we share the same blanket,
The monster and I.
-
They'd hold you in for an everlasting embrace
Their fingertips would swirl pictures
Of thriving homes with roofs,
On your bruised back,
For you've seen more broken chambers,
Than one should ever see.
And they'll remind you it's okay,
If you seek home in other people
Because a four-walled compartment,
Couldn't be enough of a home for you.-