People (5)

I am unaccustomed to being spoilt by others so much that I used to be suspicious and almost hostile towards people who tried to do so. Of course this was a private struggle. I do not speak often, so my hostility, and resulting silence, could have been read by others as timidity or frigidness, depending on what you were trying to achieve. People rarely seem to mean what they say, fuelling my decision to distrust them, especially when they are too nice. 

I find myself living in an establishment filled with nice people and, surprisingly, I m not suspicious! They open the door for you, chat with you and wish you a good day. They notice your clothes and hair. They offer to turn your bed down before you sleep while leaving a few chocolate slabs on your pillow. They may be paid to do it but they do it with so much grace and happiness. I have paid more and been treated worse in other places. So, today, I thank God for these small favours on the days when being away from home hits me harder than usual.

I am glad that you chose to spoil me everyday, for the rest of your days. 

See you soon

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.