• bluebird 9w

    I wish brightness in everyone's life.
    Hope your festival was as bright as the sunrise.
    Love you if you take the time to read this, this one is important to me.
    (Caption first)
    Some references to "Where do lovers go when they're tired?" by Ghostly Kisses

    ▪where lovers go when they're tired▪

    "It's been a while since I saw clouds in my skies."
    "My clouds are yours."

    It's a certain sense of acceptance that makes me want to hold on to the thought of darkness as a way of existing. When your eyes don't lead you to a visible road, somewhere the sun is just minutes away from rising and the passersby have already passed us by, you learn to adjust your sight to a place that's always so dimly lit yet you'd always hold on to the promise of the rising sun, even though it's not much of a compromise, this closing of your eyes, when you used to worry you'd miss that single moment of dawn if you blink - not anymore. It's dark when I close my eyes, pitch black, and just the same when I open them, hoping it to be a consequence of a long overdue morning where I would've counted the number of clouds that float in pairs.

    I've been walking blind, with every bit of me losing sight as I proceed, just to discover my lost sense of vision. This darkness has been very kind to me, if I think of it, in its truest sense, an occurrence to others. It's not all the same, this becoming; this is not all the same when I look away, behind myself, wondering if I should turn back and walk that way all over again; a place that makes my eyelids appear faintly crimson, telling me there's light behind closed doors; doors that I've knocked against before, doors that were closed before they welcomed me inside, doors that had keyholes through which I could see. But perhaps, that wasn't too beautiful a scene; that light summoning me behind those doors was not beautiful enough to stop myself for and give up on this newly found strength to walk blindly, towards a new morning, one that could make me see again.

    Meet me in the gentle after light, where your world falls apart. Meet me where the light greets the dark, where the lovers go when they're tired.

    I met you where second hand lovers have their second thoughts.

    You were heading South, yet couldn't tell East apart from North, looking for something you weren't quite sure of. There wasn't much in your hands, not much to carry on, not much to lose but yourself. But if you would've asked any blind passerby, she would've told you that you were already lost enough, walking blind, just to discover your lost sense of vision.

    "Miss, this is a two way street."
    "Hello? Who's this?"
    "Just walking by."
    "I've never had anyone walk this road before."
    "Well I'm walking the same way, and I'm glad to have someone along."

    Two way street. All those days and I didn't know that I was racing myself on a two way street. I've walked alone, wondering if this was the right way, if there's two ways, hoping I wasn't going back where I came from. And then, it was you: a voice I was longing to hear, a voice to give me a sense of direction, to let me know where I needed to listen to, to know that I wasn't walking through a void that had no exit to proceed.

    Somehow, you made me brace myself for all the tears, spontaneous and sweet, that would fall once I see the sunrise, once my eyes begin to adjust to the light.

    "Do you want me to hold your hand?"
    "What? Why do you think I need to hold your hand?"
    "I don't. It was just your arms reaching out to me and your feet stomping on mine as you walked."
    "I'm sorry." My hands cutting through the air, wishing for yours to trust me.
    "Oh" you sounded startled, "Okay. Trust me, okay? Just let me know where you wish to go."
    The light.
    "Okay." A confused tone. "Towards the light it is."

    My fingers slid over your palm so effortlessly, it almost seemed as if I needed you. Your skin, rough and folded over edges that were smooth on mine. The ridges on my fingertips could feel the friction of yours, and your hand felt warmer than mine. Dry and hard, strong and rough; strong enough to hold mine if I happened to stumble upon a pebble I couldn't see. It was, as if, your hands were the walls, cracked and rough, porous and grey, the walls I was looking for to be able to stand straight and walk straight, not knowing where it would lead me, but only hoping for it to be the right way on that two way street.

    There was this darkness, and this time around, it seemed viable.

    "How can you walk straight in this darkness?" I asked.
    "Darkness?"
    "Yes. I've been walking this way and haven't had any proof of it being right."
    "I believe my darkness is a bit different than yours."
    "How so?" I asked, walking straight, holding your hand with a strong grip, not tripping once.
    "Maybe there are things we can see that others can't."
    "Maybe."
    "But if I can see the way, I can walk you to it, can't I? And if you can see something that I can't, maybe you could walk me to it? Will you?"
    "If I see something, I'll lead you to it, holding your hand just as strongly as you hold mine."

    We had been walking for days now, weeks perhaps. There were mostly silences between every word I said and every breath you took. Those silences were filled by the faint beating of your heart, slower than mine, calmer and deeper. Your breaths were heavier, falling like a hushed sheet of snow, softly and trying to be quiet. Your arm touched mine as we walked and you made sure it never happened again yet it swung as mine did and brushed past my skin - warm, unsure and apologetic. There must've been sweat patches on your shirt, just like mine, since I could smell our sweat and feel it building up between our palms that had no space to breathe. With time I had forgotten what it felt like, to have a hand hanging free, in front of my face, looking for how many more steps could lead me to a fall from a cliff of false hope.

    Weeks and months, yet the sun never rose.
    Somehow, despite what I really was looking for initially, was never in sight, my sight; my mind had took to wanting to be able to see you in that sun lit sky.
    Somehow, this two way street had more than just two ways.

    "Why did we stop here?"
    A pause. A hesitation. "It's nothing. Don't worry."
    "What is it?"
    "It's nothing really. It's all okay."
    "I can hear a silence."
    "What?"
    "I don't know what's happening. It's unusual. I can hear the silence. I can hear my heart beating and my blood flowing. I can hear your quickened breaths. What is it? I'm scared. I'm scared of this type of darkness. Why did you leave my hand? Why did you stop here? Why are you leaving me?"

    "I'm not leaving you. Hey, don't be scared. Please don't be scared. I'm here for you. Just a little further okay? It was just something you don't need to know about, we can walk past this okay? We will do this."

    Your hands over my shoulders, cold and still, scared and shivering; your left hand raised up to my face, and your right, took mine and placed it on your chest.

    "Trust me okay? Listen to my heart, feel it, the pulse, make it your music. Be familiar."

    My toes felt something and I jumped backwards. You assured me to stay calm and said that it was you who had kneeled down, your back against me and asked me to climb it so that you may carry me for the rest of our path. There was no saying as to what you had seen that I wasn't able to comprehend, what scared me and what scared you as well but not enough to carry me over to a place that was so important to me, in the hope that I would show you something you had never seen before.

    We were on our foot again, walking still, exhausted and broken inside. There were instances you asked me how much further do I wish to go, and I'd ask you to stay a little bit longer. The birds who agreed to sat on your fingers were hesitant to my touch, yet not much if you cupped my hand from beneath. Their feathers, neat, soft and probably stunning to look at. I smiled, you smiled and I could make that out with the click of your lips. There were moments I wished to touch your face and ask you to describe it to me, how beautiful you must've been, probably a little less than what I saw you as.

    I saw you.

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    ▪where lovers go when they're tired▪

    "We can sit here for a while? Can't we? There's this bench. Sit down, wait let me help. There you go."
    You sat, your shirt puffed with the air inside and you let out a tired sigh, stretched your arms and dried your sweaty palm.
    "Is it a day yet?"
    "No. It's a night. But let me tell you this, it's beautiful."
    "Is it?"
    "You're beautiful"
    It took me a few moments to smile. I smiled, a smile so genuine, it made my cheeks hot and flushed.
    "It must be still dark, isn't it? It's always dark."
    "It's dark if I don't look at you."
    "And why is that?"
    "There's a lot of lanterns around us. Can't you see? Why can't you see?" A despair in your voice. "There's a lot of lights around us. The sky is lit by all of these stars. And then there's you, your eyes, they contain all of this light, so beautifully. You're so beautiful."
    Your hand reached out to mine, intertwining it's fingers with mine.
    "What colour are these lights?"
    "Any colour you'd name."
    "Is there any orange?"
    "There's lots of orange."
    "Can I feel your face?"
    "Please do."
    My hand raised to your face. And I felt you. A blurry image, orange and smudged all around it's edges. There were hints of yellow and white, a lean face that seemed chubby when you smiled as I touched you, felt you. Your moustache didn't seem groomed, given all of this time you lent me. Your eyes, as you closed them, when my fingers gently ran over them, felt large and innocent. Your face was warm and lovely, and perhaps, closer to mine than I last remember. Your lips felt dry on mine, both alike, yet then we kissed and I closed my eyes. There was this darkness, and this time around, it seemed viable.

    This darkness; it was the darkness of that chasm between our palms and of all of those gulfs between our tangled fingers. It was the darkness of the interstices between our lips in that moment.

    It was where the lovers go when they're tired.

    "So shall we get going?"
    "Going where?"
    "To the sunrise?"
    "The sunrise?"
    "Yes that's what we've been looking for, right?"
    "That's all you wanted?"
    "Yes."

    The walk was quiet.
    My skin was warmer. There was sweat on my forehead. There were chirps. There were birds. There was I.

    "This is the sunrise."
    "What?"
    "The sunrise."
    "I don't see it."

    There wasn't you.

    "I don't see it."
    "You're blind."
    "What?"
    "You're so blind."
    "I don't understand. I can't see the light. I can't see it."
    "Well this is where you wanted to be. These are my clouds. This is my sky. My sun. My birds."
    "This is wrong. You must be mistaken."
    "If the sunrise was all you wanted, you should've let me know the night we met. The next morning was a sunrise. And so was the next. And all of those weeks, all of those months except the ones when it rained and we figured out how to dance when we were both clueless."
    "Why did you leave my hand?"
    "I'm leaving. I'm tired of all of the walking."
    "You said you'd never leave."

    There wasn't you.

    This was a sunrise. This was all I wanted. This was it.
    Your clouds were mine.

    But there wasn't you.

    I turned around, walked away, ran and stumbled and fell over the puddles you carried me over. My ankle twisted and it healed, my feet were sore and I walked. I walked, ran and stumbled and fell. I walked, and I ran and I saw you.

    I saw you, in the gentle after light, where your world falls apart. I saw you where the light greets the dark, where the lovers go when they're tired.

    I saw you and walked upto you, reached out my hand to your chest and felt your heart. It really was you. This was you and I could see. The world I was living in, wasn't dark anymore. I saw you, held your hand, as strongly as you held mine. This was what I saw and you couldn't, your darkness so peculiar to me, that it turned into my light.

    There was this darkness, and this time around, it seemed viable. It was where the lovers go when they're tired.

    The two way street led me to a midway, somewhere second hand lovers have second thoughts about the darkness that they share.

    - Jasmine