Grace

It's 10 PM. She faithfully kneels down to pray. In the privacy of the darkness, she shows You her heart, scars and all. She dares not lift her head. But I can still see the tears streaming down her beautiful face. I would have thought that, by now, You would know when, where and how to meet her. If it were up to me, this would be the last time she would cry. These would be her last tears... If it were up to me, this would be the last time that she would fight with grief.

I'm startled when I hear her say my name, in the midst of her sobs. Perhaps she has noticed I was listening in on her intimate moments? Finally, I understand. It is not her personal grief that wears her down. She is scarred because she is fighting for my life. She chose to bear my burden. So, in a way, it is up to me... 

Me, as I was

Once upon a time, you held my heart. I feel that I need to be true to myself; I need to remember what it felt like to hold your hand. I need to remind myself of how much joy I derived from walking by your side. I need to re-capture the colours and sounds that seemed so glorious because you were sharing them with me. I need to re-ignite the warmth of love, surrounding and almost suffocating me. I need to resurrect those memories that I had buried. I need to remember how much you loved to laugh and dance. I need to play your song again so that I can remember what it was like to keep time with your heartbeat.

The very thoughts that stabbed me in the back are the ones that I need to remember. These same thoughts taunted and haunted me like demons. They laughed at my weak attempts to hold onto my dreams. They teased me because I imagined that there was hope for us to be. Hope turned and slapped me in the face, forced me onto a bed of hot coal and,  then, danced all over my sore back. For a while it seemed like the more I hoped, the more I hurt. That was when I decided to stop remembering and to stop dreaming. The songs and laughter were easily replaced by bitterness and tears. Once again, you held my heart and you were making slow deliberate marks on it with hot iron nails. . .

Today, I remember the colours, the flowers and the hours we spent together. I want to remember how brightly you shone in the light of my adoration. I have learnt that no matter how real the pain was, it matters not. Well, not that much. I know that if I can remember our laughter and joy, I will be able to push past that and remember what I was before. My heart is not yours to toy with anymore. I remember what it felt like to see through your eyes. But, best of all, I finally remember what I was before I was yours. I am free. 

It is for freedom that I live. I live because I am free. I am free because I live. 

changing things (a year later)

it's small things, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings, that will be my undoing.

i like earthquakes, whirlwinds, hurricanes and storms. they are predictable and larger than life. i know that if they hit me i wont be able to get up for a while. i know that i can expect a huge dramatic change. i can prepare for that.

i struggle to deal with slight tremors and persistent drizzles. they are like tiny larvae eating away at a leafy tree. they seem so small, so insignificant. but, given time, they turn out to be as dreadful as the storm. the major difference is that i won't notice them immediately. the tremors continue to shake foundations and the drizzle continues to hit the rock. one day, some day, the foundations suddenly give way and the rock splits. no matter how hard i try, i can never predict this. i can never prepare for it. 

a year later, i am forced to admit the power of slight changes. i look for larger-than-life signs. i look for great winds and pursue the brightest stars only to find that my end comes through a gentle breeze and a lazy glow. a year later, i must admit that the most damage came from the most surprising sources. i was slipping so slowly i didn't notice until it was too late. i was half-way to the floor. 

a year later, the greatest pains arose from the shortest conversations. there were months of dreaming then mere minutes later hope was gone. it happened so cleverly. i had trusted. i had believed. i had hoped. 

a year later and i still don't know how to steady myself against changing things. i should know better by now.