This is something that should not be said

But we are sitting in the ruins of our silence

So I will talk

I will speak

I hope you can listen to me.

I call the ever unanswered question

He who survives

Can he be He who loves?

My mind skips over the mundane like it is no more

Yet it isn't strong enough in its state to breach any surface of kind

I don't remember my cup of tea nor my absolute delight

When I add three cubes of sugar instead of one

And in the same way alike

I don't remember my mother's grave

Nor my horrifying sobs that watered the ground.

I don't need the tea to survive, you see.

And in my whirlwind of utterly desperate rush

I don't need the love either or what was lost and left of it

It doesn't feed it doesn't heal

And most days, and I hesitate to say it so glaringly

It doesn't reach.

Let it be known forever and ever

That a love within survival

Is as rare as honey in the sea

You only get the salt of the earth

The salt of your tears

And even if it seems at times molasses sweet

Don't be foolish enough

To put salt in a cup of tea.

I do not wish to see the face you make in front of my shameful admissions

You who loves and lives and takes honey from the flowers

You who is closer to the sky than to the sea

I do not wish to see my estrangement written on your face

Or in your eyes that I liken to home for someone like me.

I can't quite explain, and that perhaps, is a large reason for my reluctance to explain

I could see it happening before it did

I who speaks with a scrunched face and a mouth full of salt

And you who listens with furrowed eyebrows and eyes full of honey

It is a tragedy waiting to be written

I simply thought I could wait more.

But as it is,

The longer one survives

The further love strays away from their bones

You are in my heart and mind and maybe soul

But my bones don't carry anything beyond the marrow of my own

While you bend your bones and break

Just to make a home for me inside your body

Inside your world.

I appreciate it as one does the sun after a freezing cold

But I also go out at night when you are sound asleep

Just to let myself feel that utter cold

I return to bed significantly colder than i left

And you embrace me with a worried frown even in your rest

And well

What a way to tell our story in one night

What a way to call my tears upon my forever frozen self.

I have not loved anyone more than I loved you

And perhaps that is why, most nights, I hate all that is myself

I am incapable of loving the one my heart beats for

Where is my ability to seek warmth

Where is my wish for the light in life

Gentle sorrow of mine,

How much have I strayed away

From my human self?

I write letters sometimes under the cover of night

With a faint lamp and stolen glances at your sleeping self

I write letters with only one destination

And it is only I that wish I could ever listen to what I write.

Sometimes, they are long and suffering in their length

With smudges of ink by a rain in a roofed house

And sometimes they are only a few words

Little in number

And much in despair.

Sometimes, I rest my face on the desk and breathe

After spending minutes too long

Writing three words that should not be a reminder

Should not be a thought

Hey, you love.

Or

Hey you, love.

Some things should not be said

And the same is for writing, I am aware.

So, at the end of the night and without courage nor right to look at you again

I go out and burn all the papers i wrote

Deceiving myself for just a moment

That i'm doing it for warmth in the colder nights.

But i do love, and that's the dilemma

If one like me existed without love

It wouldn't take all this effort just to live

Like one of the people you see on the other side of the fire

Warm and smiling

And leaning towards the light.

I do love, and I don't doubt for you to rest my worries

The problem and I'm well aware

Is that I love in ways most people can't take.

Like going into the sea and offering something of land

Or going into land and extending a wet hand

Waiting for anyone or anything

To accept.

It is my own sin too, I must say

That my love has not stayed in the instinctual rooms of the heart

But grew and withered and reached my mind

Until I have to tug in a constant war of wisdom and foolishness alike

Never one role for one

But both fighting and rebelling

With a source I found out to be

Not quite as infinite as the warm people suggest.

It is, sometimes, necessary for us to let things grow in their own homes

So that one day you don't wake up and realise

That the same place that forgets your tea and mother alike

Is the one holding the strings to your ever fragile love

So you don't realise with a heavy self

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That while you are loved with the hearts of your dear ones, you love with a neatly written script

That is somehow supposed to imitate the bashful messiness of a loving one.

It makes it deceitful but also not quite

As this is the way I have learnt to love

And it is in the end,

My every lasting trial to love those who also love

And not just survive or think with a feverish pace

Like my thoughts are somehow gonna move the stones from my road

Or clear the salt from my being.

It is quite a burden to be me

And while I realise my love doesn't clear that burden from others

I also realise and perhaps selfishly

That nobody bears my burden as much as I do.

And while I despise the life of excuses and all the like

I am giving myself a break

For just a while.

I am trying after all

No matter how unnatural those tries might be.

I do not seek much from such words

I hoped, and it was a blind one

That I would not speak them into life to begin with

It is not that I don't think you are below what is needed to understand

It is that I think I am below what is needed to be understood.

And these words will only hurt

As I can't see you accepting a love that isn't solely from the heart

And I can't see you clutching the wet hand

Full of injuries you don't understand

Because you, utterly lovely you

Can't ever hurt the ones you love

Even if it is by something as needed as holding their hands.

But I did speak them because lately, it has almost been like i'm running a one man show

Whether you are a viewer or an actor I rejected, I am not aware

But it has been eating away at my soul

The reality that I don't quite fit into anything anymore.

And while it isn't a jarring nor newly discovered reality

With time passing,

I can't seem to keep up the guise of being human

Even though I am and down to my marrow will always be

I can't seem to figure out an acceptable way

Of being just that.

Last week was my mother's anniversary

I only know of the fact because you approached me with a gentle smile and a worried nudge

Asking me about my plans to visit my loved one

I blinked for long moments, and I could see the realisation coming onto your eyes

Yet you didn't seem to know how to deal with such loss.

Is it a happy moment to be rid of the choking grief

Or is it a horrifying moment

For a child to forget his own mother without much remorse?

Last week, I drank my tea looking at the sky

It tasted dull.

I am reminded most funnily by my childhood toy

It was a little monkey going around in circles with amusing sounds

It used to last a long time, and my boredom rarely won

But as it is with everything

With the years passing, the toy started randomly pausing in the middle of play time

It would work again quite quickly, but I would still cry unfairness to my mom.

She would pat my head with a fond smile

Telling me that toys need rest too, so they can make me happy for a long time.

I was a child, and I was not quite convinced

But I let it go and kept watching the ever circling toy

Except it started to stop completely after some time

And when I exercised the patience I was trying to learn

It would come back suddenly like nothing quite happened

And only the toy and I

Knew of those moments where it stopped with no sound.

I didn't tell my mom about that progression

She would have probably told me to let it rest for a while

Or to try a new toy

And the stubborn child I was, wanted that specific one

For no reason I can remember now.

In the long years after such childish woes

I would sit with my mother over a cup of tea

Hers so incredibly dull with no sugar

And mine so sweet she would scrunch her nose

She would laugh that sweet sound and say

Remember that toy you could never let go of?

And I would laugh along and tease

Trying not to be

Too much like a toy.

It is something like that

I am not quite human

And nobody has the patience

To wait for me to learn.

This week, we sit on the couch

Bodies tense and hearts clenched

I don't know how to tell you about my love

I am learning I am

But life is only long in times of convenience

And this is decidedly not.

I have not wronged you, not quite.

You, while with honeyed eyes, knew how to inject venom into anything that does

Yet there was always a space between us left unfilled

A silence that should have held the timbres of our love

A need that was as elusive as it was unfulfilled.

All my words to this moment should not have been said

They didn't follow a script nor adhere to anything they should decidedly be at best

But they have already been said, so let me, and I am sorry to burden you with this

Tell you the rest of it.

I am in love with you, and it is not a truth we can debate

Most times, I can call that love to touch everything in my wake

Most times, I can feel it in every vein

Yet the times I don't are why we are here.

Most times, I love you with my first and last breath

And sometimes

Sometimes,

I need to desperately remind myself that I do.

Your eyes shutter in front of my words with an eerie blank look

And I swallow and continue my self prophetic end.

Sometimes, all I show you is painted with trembling hands

I can't quite show you my emptiness nor my numbness

So I throw colours that fit more than not

And hope you don't ask.

Sometimes I love you, but it's from a script i wrote outside of those moments

And I can't quite justify writing that script to begin with

I just knew

That my attempt at humanity would fail one day.

It's grey, it's dull, it's missing three cubes of sugar

It's grey, it's painted, it's missing the warmth of humans

It's me, it's me, it's me.