Tuesday, 10 May 2016
Saturday, 2 April 2016
There's you. And then there's me. I was his trial period. You, however, are the girl he loves. Never feel insecure about my existence because he left me. I was never his home, I was drunken sex and sloppy declarations of love.
When he tells you he loves green, it has nothing to do with the time we fucked on his couch and I kept my green dress on.
He'll tell his friends and family about you from the get go. I never warranted an explanation to anyone who saw me in his arms. We were simply two people who happened to be in the same place at the same time.
Everything I know about him doesn't matter, he will tell you much more. Some stories will feel incomplete, that's because I was there when they happened. But he won't say my name, I am forgotten. He will say only yours and that is enough.
Monday, 8 February 2016
It starts with words, I read him before I know him. We make love in euphemisms and humour (always his) and form a fantasy void of reason. Nervous laughter aptly expressed in emojis and incoherent speech, I ask him if he ever makes himself laugh this hard. I bid adieu to reason, I want him to touch me the way he writes.
“I’m always soft for you, that’s the problem. You could come knocking on my door five years from now and I would open my arms wider and say ‘come here, it’s been too long, it felt like home with you.”– Azra.T
It happens so fast. One minute I am filled with resentment, I swear he will never touch me again. The next I am filled with fear, I am drowning and I need to hold onto something familiar. I am drenched in a longing I keep mistaking for love and he is drenched in certainty. He knows what hand will trace my spine to open me up. And I fight it, Lord knows I do. But the universe is my religion, and it keeps drawing me back to him. Hello turns into a kiss, unresolved feelings swept under a rug. Maybe this time he'll stay.
Tuesday, 12 January 2016
I'd cheat on you with the boy that's the messy eater. He makes me forget what a mess I am when all I want to do is clean up after him.
The boy with 9 or 10 scars that each have a story to tell. Especially the one on his left thigh which reminds him of me because I was there when he got it.
The boy who makes me forget which side of the bed is mine because any side next to him becomes my side.
The boy who still blushes after 3 years of being with me because my words make him feel invincible
The boy who eats breakfast for dinner with me because it's all I can cook and he insists every meal is the best I'll ever make.
The boy who plays in my hair as he stares at me for hours saying nothing but managing to say so much.
The boy who recites my poetry like he is reading verses from the Bible
But then I remember, all these boys are you. I resign myself to the fact that maybe I'll cheat on all the others with these memories of you.