The Drowning Man

Sometimes, I stop and look at episodes of my life as a picture. Or rather pictures. A collage maybe but not exactly so random. There always was a build-up. A build-up to happy, to sad, to the bloody nights, a build-up to the ultimate heartbreak… Wow. The list is endless.

However, it makes me see that everybody likes to feel needed. Even when its the smallest things a person needs you for. Without having to say it, a lot of people serve as their significant other’s emotional stability. The one thing they are really sure about; the one thing they can count on to make them happy when things are going sour.

There was this one guy I met; a direct reflection of my personality minus the tears and overflowing love. Whoever said opposites attract was a liar. They never met a person that fitted them so perfectly, they made you wonder if it was truly possible to be so much like someone. So much like a total stranger! From childhoods to movies to our undying love for the same type of music. Perfect fit.

You know how hard it is to look someone in the eye and say to them, “I was there,” after they’ve thrown it back in your face? I forced the whole, “just tell me over the phone.” In short, I ran. No eye contact. That way, I had no risk of looking like the weaker one even if I really was all along. For as long as I could, I tried to maintain that I was fine. It was draining. I got sad, I cried, I poured out my heart.

However, I didn’t have the guts to give the “I was there” speech. Partly because I was more gutted about not being able to find someone else who knew me like that and partly because I didn’t know if I’d ever meet a person who saw me as their ‘happy’. A person who needed me just as much as I needed them. No more and no less. I never did after that, and I pray I never do.

So I guess we were perfect for a while. But the worst part of it was looking at the bigger picture. I saw a man drowning. From further back, it wasn’t a single picture of a man who was drowning; it was a series of photos. First he clung onto me because he was drowning. I was drowning too but it felt amazing to be needed. To be that much a part of someone’s life. I forgot the pain of the water in my lungs, the ache in my legs from trying to stay afloat… All of it.

Then as soon as he could breathe, he climbed onto me to float. Slowly, I began to realise he didn’t necessarily need me. We floated together anyway and slowly began nearing a shore. Here I was thinking we’d get out of the water and be together forever. Thinking he would need me just as much as he did when we were two individuals drowning. But as soon as he saw the shore, he used me as a platform to get himself out of the water and never looked back.

Yours truly,
posted from WordPress for BlackBerry.


Starting Our Life, Ending Mine

“Please don’t kill me.” Psssh. Like any killer will go that far only to listen to a plea…

“Why mustn’t I kill you?” A million and one reasons would rush to my head but none that he already doesn’t know. This is someone who knows me too well. Someone who once loved me. With my hands and legs bound together… His fingers wrap my neck. I choke and try to fight it, and when I’m fading, he let’s me breathe. Only to do it again.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful your smile is?”, he asks me nearly an hour after one almost death trip. I can’t help it and I smile. One. My last smile went to him. He smiles back and I’m thinking to myself, maybe there is hope after all. He comes closer to me with a knife. My naïve mind thinking he’ll let me go. And he cuts out the inked patches of skin. Who is this monster, I ask myself?

“You’re not this person,” I say over and over in my mind. I swear, I think I’m saying it out loud. I cannot think of one thing thoroughly, too much is racing through my brain. Two. My last tears went to him. When he’s done, he thinks I’m a better person. More pure. In a way, he’s right, you know. No more fight left in me, no more tears left to cry, no more hate in my heart. I’m just waiting for it to happen.

Then he holds my head and looks me in the eye. Maybe the bags underneath my eyes make his heart skip a beat… Maybe the tracks of my tears makes him feel like he finally owns me. Maybe my begging and pleading cheers him on. Maybe my weak smile makes him feel powerful. He feeds off power. And what better power than my life in your hands. Looking into my eyes and watching my life slip away, feeling my pulse grow weaker right under your thumb. Feeling my soul exit my body slowly… I say a prayer. Weak smile and…. Three. My last ‘I love you’ went to him.

Yours truly,
posted from WordPress for BlackBerry.

This Little Suitcase of Mine

My little suitcase is labelled ‘happy’.
Blinding white cloth pokes out the side
And you assume its a show of joyful poetry.
Its my white flag.
Sorrow so real, I got a whole damn banner.
Do you not see that I’ve finally reached my surrender?

Take a walk with me, tell me your story.
You can tell it all, mine’s not so holy.
A little more coaxing and you open your suitcase;
A few things are missing, a million things to spell ‘happy place’
Sit next to me.. Don’t leave.
Help me drag my suitcase along with me.
Please don’t open it, Please don’t peek.

The white cloth, I know its tempting,
One moment alone and you get to tugging.
One thing will reveal another, you see.
All the tears I’ve cried, they’d drown you, baby.
The pain I’ve felt would make you step away.
I could try and say I finally feel okay
But you’re already headed for the door,
My suitcase lying on the floor.

I pick it all up, tear for tear.
Each item bringing back my fears.
All this time I managed to keep it closed,
You appear and everybody knows I’m not carrying clothes.
One latch, two then three and four… And off I go.
Meet someone new,
Almost hoping this will be true.
One look at my suitcase and out the corner,
A little white cloth.

Yours truly,
posted from WordPress for BlackBerry.