The salt sometimes linger and make igloos in the riffs of my tongue. The sea washes my insides and makes a typhoon in my lung and everything is sucked in, everything is free of anything and in the middle of it all is an eye, I'd rather forget. Kohl strong and gaze stronger, an eye I'd rather forget. The round black sprinkled with shadows of dead leaves, an eye I'd rather forget.
I look into it and whisper, "listen love. Here I've got ten things I'd rather forget and none of them quiet really you"
1. The shudders of my heart, preparing for a quake, a disaster, howling at its residents to flee and hide.
2. My mother's presence that's permeated deep into my bones, and I, who doesn't beleive in blood bond, is now drowning helplessly in one. I'm wrong and it's going o be the death of me.
3. The air never tastes, never really a particular scent, remains a neutral void that always kisses me in secret places while the moon vicariously lives through us.
4. Her hair, a second before my finger loses them, a second before they start missing them, a tug of war meant for no one's victory or loss. We were both falling, biting and sucking, the air out of the room, like two black holes, dying too close to each other. We were falling and we were loving and thousand years later we were still dying without really caring.
5. Hungry humans on roads, heavy on my friend's mind, weighing down her shoulders and settling deep into her heart, cozying in quiet painfully by digging through her muscles. There's a hole in my friend's heart and I don't fit there. There's a case of internal bleeding but she's crying and feeling and we're not the only people in the world, but she still bleeds out. Her body a moonless earth, her eyes an endless chaos.
6. I'm tired and my feet is swollen and that's the only thing I care about. Because my eyes say "no" my mind says "yes" and I'm tired of their wars and quarrels so I imagine gouging my eyes out one day. Going blind and stumbling upon Midas, begging him to fuck me and get it over with. At which point would he know I'm a daughter too? At which point would he know I'm a sinner too? I imagine a lot when I'm tired of waking up.
7. Flying is not real. Whoever says so otherwise is the devil, so hold on tight to him and beg him to take you with him. Begging can get you to a lot more places. Because this place is rotten, this place is scary, this place is boring and you'd rather bleed till you die than stare at green walls because you've got nothing better to feel.
8. The moment I was born, the moment someone decided I get to live, the moment I exhaled a loud cry, booming out my arrival to all those trees, air and earth, the moment I can't help but wonder about. Forgetting isn't easy when you know what you've forgot.
9. Soft skin on tight clothes. Too much, too much clothes, need to touch skin, need to feel the familiarity of another skin, the assurance of another heart, the solidarity of another soul, living the same choas, breathing the same asphalt as me.
10. I'm an addict and I want to be better. The clouds look like bands of cocaine on my mother's blue wedding saree and I cry out because I'm addicted. Not to cocaine but the thought. Thoughts. So many of them, that I've lost count, that I've stopped bothering to heed every one of them because when an addict indulges, the world blurs, motor nerves fail and there's a place inside my head, I briefly pass by. When an addict blinks all he sees is a black cat prowling on ledges, slithering behind curtains of his mind, lurking and tempting - one little bite, and it'll all be better. One little step and it'll all be alright. But the all-seeing eye warns, burns red and the typhoon roars, breaks apart my lungs and shatters me whole.
Collect my pieces and make a cake, eat it with my friends and mourn for the one that always got away.