Narratives

Memoirs of the Fallen

Remember me.
When the sky is on fire, moments before the sun sets on the ocean.
When your knees feel weak, trembling in the face of a hurricane.
When mayhem prevails but your eyes see beauty, despite and beyond.
When your mind is incapable of substantiating your own thoughts.
When logic and rationality are present, yet all fails to make sense to you.
When the thrill flushing inside your veins is too much but never enough.
When the more you run back to a memory, the quicker it fades out.
When you’re touched by a person that loves you, but all it ever does is remind you of your scars.
When you’re worn out, yet still desperately grasping for something to fight for.
When you look up and try to reason your helplessness with God
When your lungs still feel empty no matter how hard you breathe in.
When the word ‘almost’ does more damage to you than anything else.
When you call someone else by my name and feel bitterness down your throat.
When you seem to dance with your demons better than your angels.

And tell them.
Tell them I’m the woman that could handle a pen and a paper, but not a heart.
Tell them I bled words for my lovers, leaving nothing but holes in their souls.
Tell them my fire burned too strong, burning myself and all around me down.
Tell them I’m the maddest sane person you’ve ever met.
Tell them I’m defined by my restless heart and relentless mind.
Tell them I stare blankly into the eyes of fate as I fearlessly self-destruct.
Tell them I have a knife in my heart,
tell them I’m on the other end.
Tell them I’m the one who is forever in chase of her untamed imagination.
Tell them I live in days that never happened, in places I’ve never been.
Tell them I’m strong if strength meant surviving the loss of a lover that was once the best part of yourself.
Tell them I numb the pain by huffing a cigarette and dancing the night away.
Tell them I’m often a living, walking paradox inside the flesh of a pretty girl.
Tell them I’m the rebel in shackles,
the neutralized riot.

You’ll remember me when you feel hollow.
And you’ll tell them I drained us out.

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Past to present: A timeline

Friday. 06:14am, two weeks ago:

“I usually wake up before him. I gently unwrap his arms from around my waist and place a soft kiss on his cheek before I go shower. By the time I’m done, he’s standing outside, shirtless, with a cigarette flickering between his fingers. As much as I want him to quit this virulent habit, but I adore the sight of him exactly like that. That particular moment, when the graceful view of his body meets the sunrise, combined with the bitterness of the Coffee down my throat, makes me feel like if I died at that moment, I’d die at my happiest.
I head back to our room to get dressed, he follows me to lay back in bed because he can still spare a few more minutes in bed before taking a shower and getting ready for work. He loves watching me get dressed, he says that it’s his favourite part of the day. He says he loves how the shirt falls on my shoulders, the way my fingers move while I button it up from bottom to top, how the sight of my neck unravels his worries while I pull my hair up.
I hold his face and kiss him before I put my lipstick on. Frankly, I don’t why I always kiss him before putting my lipstick on. It’s as if I want to imprint his kiss on my bare lips and then safeguard it under my lipstick until I see him again. He hates it when I put make up on. It actually infuriates him sometimes. He believes it’s an act that delineates arrant violation of natural beauty. I always smile and listen thinking how much I love his mind and his smart mouth.
As soon as I’m done, he walks me to the car, still shirtless, still mine. He opens the door for me and places the warmest, most loving kiss on my forehead, “God, I love you,” he whispers with his eyes closed before his lips softly leave my forehead. I drive away thinking that I can’t wait for the day to end so I’d go back home to him.”

Today, 06:20am:

I like to think that time will handle our story. That maybe a time will come where I wake up without you haunting my every thought and move. I’ll have my regular cup of Coffee as I do every morning and stare outside from my window for a while, I will then dress up, put my make up on and leave the house tranquilly. I would go through my day doing everything half-heatedly with a smile incised on my face. I’ll pull off ‘normal’ for 24 hours. Who knows, maybe I’ll even fall asleep without any pills.

Discourse and Coffee

“He looks at me in a very unusual way, you know, that kind of look that makes you feel like you matter. I mean, I get nervous around him, his aura does things to me.  With all honesty and truthfulness, one gaze from him and all I can think of is how much I want to keep that smile on his face. But of course, I have my own confusions. For instance, there’s a tremendous amount of ambiguity surrounding him. I’m shrewd, I can read people easily but it’s just not the case with him. It’s difficult to explain what he portrays. He is one of those people that make you feel like they’re too simple to even attempt to understand and before you know it, you’re in bed thinking he’s the most perplex you’ve ever had to deal with.” Bemused, I explained.

“Maybe you interest him, maybe he’s intrigued by how different you are. Have you ever considered that?!”  She asked enthusiastically.

I was stunned to hear her say that, it’s daunting to think that she might be even slightly right. That it’s our points of disparity that makes us what we are to each other. It’s ironic how even I cannot define what we are or what we mean to one another.
“It cannot possibly be that! He’s just, he’s lively, He likes the dynamic aspect of life, that ever changing state of stability. I can’t even begin to tell you how fascinated he is by sleepless cities and crowded streets. The time I spend immersed in my novels late at night, he spends dancing  and letting go, detaching, one fret at a time. It really can’t be that; he’s like a sunny summer day on the beach and I’m a cloudy day in November.”

“What if you’re the calm to his chaos? The cloudy day he needs after burning too bright? You know how they say opposites attract!” She said while banging her empty mug on the wooden table.

Good God, she might be right. “No, it couldn’t be. Here’s the thing, you might think a person like him is initiative, proactive, talkative, but he isn’t at all. He’s quiet, like I am, passionate about having an escape from reality just as I am.” I answered, uncertain of my own thoughts, unaware of my emotions.

“You fool, I wish you could see how your eyes light up when you talk about him.” Agonized, she added “You feel this insane pull towards him but you don’t dare to give in, why? Because his wild eyes awaken your lustfulness? Because you can’t fully scrutinize what he is made of? Because he terrifies your frail little heart? Hold his hand, pull him closer and tell him what you truly desire.”

I smiled, “maybe I will..”