the chills you left still intervene between my spine
wrecking every nerve you come in contact with
extreme thoughts in my mind
whatever we do is malpractice
running my dreams in a circle
sometimes your nonverbal communication speaks different
from everything that remains absent in these words
if never spoken, why do these words push me into absinthe
architects, what we have constructed is a labyrinth
then we built a foundation to protect ourselves from us
laid down conditions to determine what remains and what turns into dust
kisses on your neck left permanent scars
got me questioning the limits of how far
before we plummet these summits were never meant to hold
but our hands did
you locked yourself away in a room made of mirror
and you forgot you are claustrophobic, perfect
images of you making an infinite of you
you’ll always be the realest
crown on your head, you are no one’s queen
you sing yourself to sleep everynight
you are your own king
showers of pleasure make you dance
vapor drops roll down your back
you sexualise as you close your eyes
fantasies of living overseas with two dogs and yourself
making money sitting in an audi r8
riding solo, ask you how you doing? great
no opinion matter greater than yours
how come you look so good but never flatter yourself
you don’t ask for help
when you don’t know your roads you’ll find them
rather, you’ll make your own
buy yourself gifts cause you don’t give a fuck
tuck yourself in your own throne, you never gave a fuck
you don’t need a man to understand you
you are the only one who can stand you and that’s okay
you’ll always be okay
and in the end when all this is over
you’ll want to die alone, on your own terms
and you’ll die in your own arms
artwork by manasi hegde
it’s a relationship of two and you know i’m gonna wait on you doesn’t mean you keep me waiting i’ll be patient till twenty that’s when you said we maybe start dating you don’t know how to name love you don’t realize that it’s me crying on your shoulder kissing your neck if that ain’t love then what it mean at times we might not end up on the same page but we part of the same book at times i hit you with my rage you knock me down with a left hook
i want to sleep with you until my arm goes numb
when was the last time sleeping was so innocent that our arms went numb
do you remember the last time we felt some way before our hearts went numb
the further i go
the more you miss me
but im not your prince charming baby
this life aint disney
Recommended music to listen to while reading
Slow Dancing In A Burning Room Guitar Cover
(On a phone call)
Man : I love you a lot and I wish you were here with me right now.
Woman : You know, I love you better when you are not with me, when you are really far away. That is when I love you more and sometimes, miss you.
Man : If that is the case then you’ll probably love me the most if I were to move to the other side of this world.
Woman : *Laughs* Yeah, probably yes. Would you? Do that?
Man : Anything to make you happy.
And so, six months after that conversation, I decided to go to Brighton for three years to learn fine arts under a famous artist I had for so long admired and looked up to. Another reason for me to go to Brighton was her, if only she could love me better and not take me for granted the way she does right now, I would have done anything to make that happen. And so I did.
I have held her a lot of times, many times throughout the night and we have had our moments while we sank into each other’s bodies. I left for Brighton, and when I left, I kissed her for the first time.
We wrote each other letters since talking over the phone wasn’t possible all the time and it also put off the whole vibe of me going to the other side of the world for her. I skyped her from time to time whenever she was okay with me video calling her, and she seemed to look prettier every time I did, and everytime I seemed to miss her more.
I would go to a coffee place not far from where I stayed, it looked over a beach. It was the most beautiful view to look at during the winter rains, there was something captivating about the grey skies and the rough sea along with the wet sand. Sitting there by the glass window of the coffee shop, I would write her letters everyday, talking about all that happened the previous day, maybe sketch a bit of the scenery and everything else that was supposed to be said in a letter. It was a bit pricey to write her letters everyday, but I managed just fine without dinner over some nights.
First year went by pretty quick learning more about fine arts, I landed a job under my mentor, helping him with his work and earning a living. I achieved a lot as an artist during this time, I was mentioned in their national newspaper.
Around this time I missed her more than ever. I wanted to go back and hold her in my arms for so long, I wanted to see her face so bad. I wanted to kiss her, feel her lips against mine and then kiss her harder. I missed her smell, it was the smell of cocoa butter with her favourite perfume.
It went from writing her letters daily to writing weekly. I never got enough time since I started working. Even skyping her was something that I did once in a blue moon. At the end of the day I would be so tired I would go off to sleep the moment my body fell on the mattress, forgetting about her.
On my way to the workplace, I travelled through the subway. And everyday there used to be a street side band over there, playing songs, trying to earn an extra buck. They were pretty good, they played some of my favourite artists like John Mayer, Justin Timberlake, The Eagles and so on. I would say that the music almost sounded better along with the noise of the moving trains, it had a different vibe to it.
She told me that she was proud of my achievements in the first two years. She told me that she missed me. And I was vulnerable, I would have come back the second she asked me to. But she never did. Even when I asked her whether she wanted me to come back, she said no every time.
I always knew I was a bit too much, a bit of a bother, an overthinker. She hated that I thought so much about everything but I never thought she would be able to keep me away for so long, for something so stupid. Just so she could love me better.
There was no pattern to when I received any of her letters, it was random. She wrote when she felt like it, and she rarely felt like it.
By this time, my popularity as an artist grew a lot. My works were on display all over Europe and I lived the way I always wanted to live. I travelled most of Europe by train, visiting the galleries which displayed my work. Throughout my journey I met a lot of people, people who had adventures and stories to tell about, charming and beautiful people who were driven by life. Artists, poets, writers, philosophers, scientists, all sorts of people from every walk of life.
I went from writing letters to her weekly, to writing maybe once or twice a month, telling her all about my life and how mesmerizing it was.
When I returned to Brighton from my tour of Europe, I received a letter from her.
The letter said that she loved me and that she loved me more than ever, so much that it hurt. That she missed me so much, that she wanted to see me again, kiss me again, hold me again and spend everyday with me, in my arms. She wanted me to come back.
I wanted it to hurt, I wanted to cry and I wanted to miss her but I didn’t feel anything, I couldn’t. If only she would have said this a bit sooner, I would have left from here as soon as I read the letter, if only she would have said something, anything a bit earlier.
I wrote back.
I love you, and I always have. But I’m sorry darling, I won’t be coming back. Not for a longtime. You see, I’m here right now and I’m too much in love with this place, the view, the tunes it plays and the people that it has. I’m happy right now and I don’t want to let this go. If only you would have asked me to come back sooner, I would have dropped everything and returned to you. It is different now, I came here for you but now I want to stay here for myself. I hope you understand that this might be the last thing I ever say to you. I love you but I have got to go. This is goodbye.
After writing the last letter, I stared out the cafe window, looking over the beach. It looked as beautiful as ever. I sat there for a while. I was far beyond her reach, or anyone else’s for that matter.
I left for Brighton, and when I left, I kissed her for the last time.
Here I am, sitting by your grave. Flowers in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other.
Hey Dad, what’s up? It’s been one year since you passed away. I know Mom came to give you a visit earlier during the day, she invited me to come as well but I refused her invitation. I didn’t want her to see my tears, neither did I want to see her cry.
Mom hasn’t been well ever since you left, she has been in a state of depression and has been drowning her pain in alcohol. The alcohol doesn’t help either. There hasn’t been a day where we haven’t fought throughout this one year, and I do not know how much longer this will last.
I’m carrying the weight on my shoulders and it hasn’t been easy. I’m the man of the house. It is hard to run this company of yours, being a millionaire must have been hard. I know, since I am one, carrying your legacy. I hated you father and I still do. Throughout these nineteen years of my life, you were never there for me. I’m sure every son has had this cliché father son relationship. But, does that not give me the right to complain?
As a father you had a responsibility upon you, but you never fulfilled it. I never came to completely know you as a father or as a person. All I know is you were a man of pride and honour or so I have heard from your colleagues.
I know that you were occupied with your work but that is not an excuse for not giving your family any time. And I hate it, the thought that I’ll never come to know who you really were, I hate it almost to a point where it makes me cry and hate you more. And it gets worse when I look at our photographs and how you never smiled in any of them. You were always so serious and cold, never letting anyone know how you felt. The only relationship we had besides being a father and a son was a materialistic one. I agree, you gave me everything I have ever wanted. But you never gave me your time or love, which I am still longing for. And I kept asking for more stuff, it was the only way you did ever spend a little time on me.
I know that I haven’t been the perfect son that you wanted, but neither were you a perfect father. You made mistakes, horrible ones and yet, you never even tried to make up for your mistakes. Eventually I toughened up, not because I wanted to but because I had to. I only appeared tough on the outside though, inside my soul was moaning in pain. I didn’t shed a single tear the day you passed away, neither did I utter a single word.
The person I loved and hated at the same time, who I barely knew, who was my father, passed away. I wish you were here with me right now, I wish you did hug me, give me a pat on my back and share a beer with me. I wish you were there to see me grow up, to look at all my achievements. I wish I could have spent more time with you and gotten to know you more.
Cheers Dad, I’m leaving the flowers and alcohol by your grave, don’t get too drunk cause I certainly am. Goodbye. Maybe we’ll meet at some point in the distant future.
Later on the news:
“Drunk teenage millionaire dies in a car crash on the anniversary of the death of his father.”
Featured image taken from ‘Superman – Earth One’.