Pardon me. #hearMe If you ask me to alter my past; this is what I'd want.
I closed my eyes in an open nightmare. I set my alarm. 13th of November 2017; 5:05 AM.
2:07 I woke up bathing in my own pool of sweat; my sheets strangely cold beneath, the roof periodically fooling me for a starless sky. My hooded heart took shelter inside a pitch black cave; those heart strings webbing around the caricatures of my soul split apart just like the spilt milk I spit into my orange coffee mug this morning. And even though my doctors had warned me of occupying a bag of a few more breaths on the go; I never dared to hold an inhaler; the wind never escaped me, and I never breathed the air; it were those howls of those whirls that inhaled me in an oasis of peace and exhaled me in an eye of a storm.
2:43 It wasn't midnight to be told; a ranting you say, yet no man was up along my bed driving me towards the morning sun. The sky was still in a shade of lilac today; the clouds being those everyday fluffs of a prudent sleep that had lulled my kiss just to escape and miss. I whispered it to myself in an attempt to seek an answer, "Where is he?" And I searched back beneath my bedpost and I couldn't agree a truce with you. It was a nightmare that woke me up; just to dream another nightmare with my open eyes, looking for you; dreaming of you, and there you were; nowhere around.
3:01 Lead by the dripping of the chromium tap I headed over to my bathroom; zipped up the loosened spout and slid back in my blanket. I knew you weren't around; I knew you'd never be; I knew I had to dream, so that you could reach out to me.
I received a phone call to the tune of Beethoven.
*Hello? Jasmine?* -"oh, it's you. How'd you remember me?" *Could we.. could we talk?* -"Are you fine?" *No. No.*
And I felt the need to rush out straight through my window; bleeding along my thighs while rushing through the broken pane glass. The doors losing their hinges; the wood carving itself; I needed to hold you and I needed to know what was eating you alive. Where I've always been the one to be broken and beaten down by knees; how did I miss your senses and when did we reach somewhere closer to "No" repeated seven times; seven, I remember, with tears rolling down your throat and choking you as you try to exist.
Holding my heated mobile closer to my right; embedding it inside my ear to be able to hear you out, I rushed towards my shoes in a haste, all blunt and burnt, I tripped over my ankle yet it didn't feel an ounce to scream.
"I'm coming." I chanted.
Two minutes. I was late by two minutes.
I woke up again; too scared of those two minutes to pass. Too eager for those two minutes to rewind. Too brave to slip back in the past and rotate the hands of my clock; gripping their wrists and abusing them back to two minutes; prior to your suicide.
The alarm rang pungently through my ears till it stilled my spine. I fell back into the depths of my pillows, too hard from the constant attempts of trying to fall asleep; from trying to hold the held arms of the clock, to prevent those two minutes to miss out.
I opened my eyes in a breathless choke. I was sitting in a local bus. The rocking of the slight travel had lulled me to sleep again making it harder for me to stick my eyelids open. I dialled your number; something I forgot again, though I had kept safe your successive habit of writing it down with a ball point pen over my less worked palm of my right hand, still pretending to hurt from a splinter.
8, 7, 4, 5 and an accidental double 2. My hands shaked and the jerks from the bus depot stoppage made me dial wrong. I screamed at my inabilities; my insecurities howling at me; my hypothermia striking again with a stinging migraine. "Is he alright?" "After all these years; what made him reach out to me?"
I stepped off of that platform and felt the winter's summer over my half covered feet that had lost their socks. They screamed, "Someone jumped over that cliff at the back of the nomad's stay."
I knew it was my setting sun falling from that cliff. I looked at my broken watch; something I'd wear upside down, it said, "5:07"
Two minutes. I was late by two minutes.
7:17 It couldn't be. How could I be so close and let him go all again? How couldn't I hold on to him while I was thinking of nothing but him? What troubled him before those two minutes that he felt the need of sharing and unfolding in a haste? What spiders had crawled inside of him that he had to think of me while he set behind a burning bowel? Why didn't he scream? Why couldn't he scream out to me?
I panted in a fury to rip off the bedsheets and pull apart those night lamps with a yellow bulb montage. Why didn't I rush on and never let those two minutes prick him? Why couldn't I leave a light on by the lighthouse and why couldn't he see me?
All of such questions. All of such answers that the questions offered themselves.
It being the final call; I could let it all at stake. A sanctuary of love was waiting for him to perch.
"Where are you? I'm sorry I'm hopeless with faces. Who are you? I gave up on all of your traces."
I let my bare feet out on the damp floor and I lay myself down. Crouching in the corners of a mundane shelf, I felt like sleeping on the floor. Somewhere he could've been with me; embracing me close, close enough to count the beats of his heart while he placed a hand over mine to feel nothing at all; too fast a pace it caught as I tried to sweat by him.
A warm drop rolled by my cheek. It wasn't salt to taste my tongue. The bitter edges tasted my taste buds. The taste of those two minutes; I still remember.
And I slept. The alarm rang again as if it wanted to be heard out. 13th of November 2017.
5:05 There was a crowd of a peculiar silence wishing through my soul and bones. Me at the edge of the cliff; him at the edge of my heart.
"I don't wish to live." He whispered as I pebbled out a rock at the bottom of the mountain. "I do." I tackled. "What if it all drops down to you? What do you do when you're in my place?"
I gazed at my feet for a few moments; minutes too long. Confused at the question I tilted my head at him and nudged my nose against his. My blood seemed to have swelled my veins and I felt a lump of everything in my throat; spitting out my own saliva I felt my lips dry, a drought resting up in them from a forgotten kiss that I begged for.
"Nothing. As when that happens; you're always in my place. Holding on to me when I don't want to. Wanting me to stay when I can't."
But he stood up. Replacing his expressions at the sky and holding those tears in his eyes that he was taught never to let fall.
"I can't." And he cried. He died and he smiled and he laughed but he cried. He held on and he bled and he tredged but he cried. He screamed to me and he kissed me and he hit me but he cried. That day; at 5:05; he cried.
And then he jumped off. But I held on. The loose sand giving up too easily had reached the ground level too early than the sun itself; my Caesar counting upon his mighty fall, yet I, never letting his head bow down close to his knees.
5:05. I made it. My watch beeped and the tocks of the other fifteen clocks in my room painted me grey. I held on to those two minutes wanting me to stay tact. I crumbled like water over ice; like love over agony.
And he lived. And he held me. And he loved me.
But he cried.
I woke up. Right on my bed; early in the morning as it seemed. The breakfast ready for me; my spilt milk in my coffee mug still orange by the study desk. I propped up, gushed back that lock of hair over my eye and tweaked my gaze at you behind the crêpe curtain we bought back for Christmas.
Not bothered by my headaches; you seemed to melt away into a mould of habits. And I still object your cigarette obsession yet I won't lie; the everyday patch of humidity over the window glass always says my name as you run your finger through it like a child.
You asked me like every other morning. "What did you dream of last night?"
I answered you like every other morning. "The same I had been living at 5:07 every day."
"So he lived again; huh? Ya made it?" You ask me. And all I ever could remember was an agreement to your question.
Yes he lived. Again. Yes I somehow made it.
But at 5:05; he cried. For two minutes.
Pulling off my newly bought slippers I stood up; just to grab hold of those green, white and red pills that had me rotten alive.