Ah. Love. I forget what it is like almost.
Then I think of bygone eras and so many futures. Then, I think of you.
Love. What an embodiment of love. But the feeling burnt out just as you did too.
That last moment on the hospital bed when you said, I'm sorry, I was just using you.
#momentdownthememorylane
Nanotales on the theme "love is not for sale"...ideas built in competition mode.
#1
"You can woo me all you want", he said. "Giving me clothes, a bike, a mobile, anything you think I need. But I already told you, I can't fall in love." "I never intended to buy it. My love isn't for sale either," she calmly replied.
#2
After her purchase at the market, I ordered her to love me. "My love ain't for sale mister," she replied, "Only me."
#3
- Mom, no! I can't sell them!
- We can't look after them.
- These puppies are my love, and you told me...
- Love is not for sale.
They smiled.
A piece of conversation -
- How can I make you understand?
- Touch me. Make me feel. Make me feel the waves of the sea and the thunder of the surf. Make me feel. Touch me. Touch me like a piece of china or a delicate doll. Touch me. Make me feel. Make me feel the oceans of your mind in your touch and send shivers down my spine. Make me want you because I don't need you but I need to want you if I should let you touch me. Make me feel. Words should cease now and your actions should betray your passion. Touch me like I'm electricity, like I'm ice and you're fire. But first, make me feel.
- Touch you?
- Only if you can make me feel.
You break.
Oh so beautifully, you break.
You break into a million shards,
We collect them all.
Each time with bloody fingers,
On lost loves and old loves,
On all loves we spill blood
And glue it together, all.
You break again,
You break, oh so beautifully.
So beautifully that I fall silent,
I forget this is my friend
And not a lover unheld
In my arms when he needed.
Ah, you break time after time,
We catch each piece with
Arms scratched with love,
Red paint on blue sleeves
And white collars.
Sometimes your collar is blue.
I still love you.
Why is it that words pour out of me, now that I'm alone in the dark and thinking of your hands slipping from my cheek to my shoulder to my arms to my chest to my stomach to my legs to my warmth? Words pour out of me, now when you're miles away with nothing to say, and I miss you going down on me and I miss you holding on to me like a life jacket and you're drowning in your sleep and I miss holding you close to my chest, my arm numb yet being your unmoving pillow and my arm imprisoning you to me. Words pour out of me, now when I am truly alone and I realise that you loved me and I let a good woman go, I let you go after slapping you, pushing you, shouting at you, humiliating you, and yet never realised that my anger at you was not at you but at myself. Words pour out of me now, when I see pictures of you happy in the arms of someone else, a wedding ring on your finger marking your submission now to him and not to me, even though I was the first to possess you and mark you with love bites all the way down your neck as I thought you craved them. Words pour out of me now after seeing that you have changed and that you are able to look at me with the same smile that stole my heart one drunken night under the stars on a lonely park, bright even without streetlights because your smile was enough to light my darkness. Words pour out of me now that I find myself alone again, to face my demons and now they have your face with a black eye, bruises on your thighs, a chipped tooth and a smile and I realise you were my possession and I wasn't willing to share you anymore not even with myself when you transformed from a human being into an object and I want to say I am sorry. Words pour out of me now, now I see that you are smiling the same smile you had when I gave you that rose on Valentine's that you kept alive for a week and a day but with thoughts of another man and I want to slap you and shout that you cannot belong to him when it was me you loved for the first time. Words pour out of me now, watching you dance the night away as I am smoking in a fog of Kings and now you ask me if I am OK and I claim that I am and I wish you well and now I am walking out the door wishing I could have loved you a little bit more.
His face had changed.
Years gave it a new glow,
Something more mature,
More hardened.
His voice had changed.
Cigarettes had given it a new flavour,
A smokiness that could be
Almost touched.
His physique had changed.
Evidently, the young boy of 16
Had become a young man
At 21.
His ideas had changed.
His dreams and desires differed,
Even though not much
From 16.
His mind had changed.
What seemed so far away,
Death and loss had touched him,
Scared him.
Yet the young boy with stars in his eyes,
When we held hands for the first time,
He was a sort of rare beauty living in
Shades of grey that rarely tested that age.
He still loves in colour but moves on
Like a thunderstorm without warning.
And finally, I told him,
You inspire poetry.
Breathing down her neck.
Then biting her ear.
The cat rested, eyes shut as her kitten played with her.
Out of the blue,
When I told you,
You smiled.
I said I miss you,
Like a kitten's mew.
You smiled.
I said I love you,
Like something new.
You smiled.
You said you know,
You said go slow.
I didn't smile,
But you didn't know.
Happy birthday my dearest...
Thus we come to the 6th year where we have been inseparably close.
Friend, no.
Lover, no.
Soulmate maybe?
Heavens only know.
But such has been our friendship that if
I cry, you have a bucket,
And I'll probably hit you for teasing me
With the same bucket.
You laugh, I'll have toothpaste,
And you'll probably throw it at my head
For daring to speak on golden teeth.
We fight, we both run away,
And we come back, patch up,
And then run off in the same direction-
Probably to the same beach where it all started.
We have so many memories of it.
Good ones, bad ones,
Getting-washed-away ones,
Covered-in-sand ones;
Two wild kids looking for fun.
I shall say this right now -
You are not my brother.
We may have grown up together,
From awkward teenage where
You started with a sweet line
And I put pepper on it,
To mature young adults
Where we keep breaking hearts
And get our hearts broken.
Maybe it is better to say,
Young adults getting their first taste
Of responsibilities and time crunches
Yet throwing it all off for one,
Just one hour in the sand.
Or on a car seat.
Or on a hard rickety chair
At some sharjah shop.
A valued one hour.
Make it three if we're
Skipping classes to chill.
So many memories and gifts.
Our tastes are oh-so-different.
I do not do girly,
Yet you persisted in making me
And finally when I managed
To develop a sense of feminity,
You mourn the bratty tomboy.
And make renewed efforts in
Finding her. For fun.
You know me better than
You know yourself.
You do not do
Dressed-up-peacock,
Yet I persisted in making you
And when you finally managed
To develop a sense of masculinity,
I mourn the muddy little boy.
And make renewed efforts in
Finding him. For fun.
I know very few or none
As well as I know you.
The beautiful gifts.
A song dedicated.
A handmade card.
A diary of us.
Most of all, time.
From you to me.
It cannot even be compared with
A small poem,
A small letter,
A football tshirt I hoped you'd love.
But most of all, time.
From me to you.
Selfishly guarded and loaned,
Yet if you needed, you need,
I believe you know,
One phone call is more than
Enough.
Tell me who hurt you,
I shall bury them alive in words and writing.
I'm scared to tell you though, my dear,
You might just bury them alive.
Love you.
To a best friend, my familiar stranger,
(Because you keep growing up!)
A note to say, I love you.
You told me in December,
The last month of the year, that,
Disillusioned, you have found out,
There are things only money can buy.
That maybe love and dedication
Just isn't enough. Yet, I cannot
Completely agree. Money is just a means
To an end. There is no eternity.
Yet, I know what you meant and where
And how. I don't know how to
Convince you now.
I don't know how to convince you,
That people respect and value you
But they cannot believe in your goodness,
Maybe they have been told otherwise in life;
That people don't mean to use you
But they do not know how to express,
Or they feel they lack time for appreciation;
That whatever you do honestly, sincerely,
It will matter for a long time,
Even after you leave, the ones who matter,
They're going to say, you were here.
A new name, a new face,
A new man, woman.
It's always the same.
Two weeks of stalking
And then on to the next,
When are you going to learn
To give it a rest?
This charade of a broken heart,
The pointless exaltation
Of a pitiful infatuation,
Have you learnt maybe
Of who you are?
This is a game where the rules
Are you and you,
The rules are you yet
You always seem to lose.
Wake up sweetheart, life
Is passing by.
The clock is ticking here
And you're caught in fear
Of loneliness, misery,
And the monotony
Of mere existence.
Love is the name you give it,
But you know it's long gone.
You know that love isn't now.
Love was, has been and had been,
In little notes,
Shattered glass,
Ripped up jeans,
Red eyes.
Love isn't now, even though
That's what you call it.
This new name, new face,
New man, woman.
It's always the same.
Indiscreet little notes.
Flowers strewn across the hall.
The fridge full of beer.
Yet, you're not here.
Drip drip drop.
Raindrops
Running down roofs,
Walls, hands, feet,
Leaves, trees,
Flowers in bright bloom.
A green too deep to break,
Sky dark grey
Streaked with white
Lightning.
White boats in little streams
Desperately making their way
To some unknown shores.
Smell of rain, fire and gasoline
It is all so well known.
It could be home.
It was like the first time all over again. She was quiet, alone with her music, not even realising that she was humming as she walked by. He knew exactly where she would go, how she made her rounds. He followed her.
Halfway through, she stopped. She turned. She smiled.
The sky could have fallen down but he wouldn't have cared in the least. Just like the first time.
"Walk with me?", an invitation that he couldn't resist. His hand itched to catch hers and hold it in his. Her soft, delicate hand. Hands which used to know him so well.
"I need to talk to you", the words were out of his mouth before he had even thought it through. What was he going to say?
" What about?", she removed her earphones and glanced at him. The walking hadn't stopped. They had reached where it all began. Where she had been crying alone, trying to rid herself of her demons and he had come like a king to the aid of a queen. He stopped. "Shall we sit?"
She eyed him warily. He expected a no. He knew it was going to be a no; even though she had never said no to anything from him except that last time. She had looked so beautiful, so lost. So hurt. Yet she had smiled. She always smiled. Even now, she was having that smile as she sat. "So talk. I'm listening."
She never truly listened to him the last few months. She was too caught up in her own world. She was trying to solve her own problems and had just let him fall to the side. She had her life and she was busy with it. She would find others. Smarter, stronger, better. But he had stood through it all next to her, would they? They might. He cut off that line of thought.
Really just looking at her confused him and at the same time, cleared his head.
"I want us back", he swallowed and bit his lip. She tilted her head to a side and watched him. "I think it would be better... I miss you." This was the hardest thing he had ever said.
"Why?"
Yes, a question he expected. She was always so full of questions. Even when he had first held her hand. She had asked him why he was holding her hand. That time, he had enjoyed it. The relentless series of questions.
"Because I think it would be better for us both. You are alone now... A lot. You're sad. I've noticed."
She smiled fully, reached out and brushed his hair out of his eyes. "I missed you. I have been alone and I have been sad. But it was worse for me in a relationship where I was isolated. And please... Stop telling me about what you see of me. Tell me about you. Tell me why you want me to risk my heart again. I loved you too much then and I still love you now."
"Stop. Listen."
"To what?"
"I do love you. I love you very much."
"How do I believe this when it comes from the boy who told me that he will not fall in love? This boy. Not the man I fell in love with."
"I...", he ran his fingers through his hair and looked at the ground. Tears were filling his eyes. So many feelings. For her, everything could be caught in words. A talent he lacked and suffered for. So many expressions that couldn't be conveyed with mere words.
"You?"
"I'm sorry. I can't guarantee a future. But let's try again."
"This is the third time love."
He looked up. She was crouched just in front of him. She was showing him her hand...her finger...a glint of gold? A ring.
Not the ring he gave her.
Not even remotely close.
"Give me a reason and something to hold on to. Then I might be able to consider breaking this commitment off. Because I love you. But I will not risk my heart again for empty words and broken promises. Not again."
What could he say now? She was gone. The ground was blurring.
"I haven't gone. I'm willing to risk it all love. But only for one who would do the same for me."
He caught her hand. They were outside her apartment. He didn't know what other way to express it. He cupped her small face in his hand. He kissed her.
Anguish. Repentance. Self-loathing. Darkness. Hatred. Loss. Betrayal. It flowed through him into her as though it was a dark vein flailing about wildly trying to connect to her heart.
For one second, there was a response from her. Forgiveness and pity. She pushed him off, wiped her face. She opened the door leaving him stricken behind her. She locked the door.
She smiled. She pulled the key over her wrist as she grabbed on to one mental bar out of five of the door. Small but deep enough. The cut bled.
He caught her bleeding wrist. He grabbed her keys. His shock and anger were written all over his face.
"Why?!", he demanded with thinly veiled anger.
"Because looking at you is too painful. I should forget. Cutting helps."
"No."
He hadn't forgotten her unstable sensitivity under the rock hard exterior.
"I should."
"No... Stay."
"I'm going to sleep."
"Let me come with you. I'll give you first aid."
"No."
He opened the door with the keys in his hand, caught her under her arm and led her to her bed.
She fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.
When she woke up, the bed was slept in and there was a note: Gone to get breakfast.
She sighed. Once bitten, twice shy, so what was the third time? A fool again? She thought back to the last time, a small poem of Faudet in her head playing a recap -
I could taste
The sting of whisky
On your lips,
A final kiss,
Before we said
Our last goodbye,
Without a word
Being said.
The sting of whisky had also been his proposal.
The feeling of missing you
Is so great my friend.
Hours of nonsense,
Hours of sense,
Hours of heartfelt discussions,
Hours of papers written.
The feeling of missing you
Is so great my friend.
Hours of peaceful silence in the bed,
Hours of walks around lawn beds,
Hours of playfulness and new games,
Hours of sitting, talking about big names.
The feeling of missing you
Is so great my friend.
Hours of wondering where,
Just where I went wrong,
Hours of wondering who,
Just who it was for.
The feeling of missing you
Is so great my friend.
Hours of sitting next to your wheelchair,
Hours of talking about anything,
Of anything but that which matter
Waiting for the hour of theatrical exits.
The feeling of missing you
Is so great my friend.
Because you're there but it's
No longer you,
And I don't know if I'm right
In missing you.