Fur of orange white
Eyes of sky and soil
Temper of unpredictable weather
Strength of a life lived through will
Literally the taste of tough love.
I still have all my scars from four incidents of bites. But then I only knew my own pain and none of yours.
You have always been untouchable.
And now you really are.
Rest well, my little friend.
I never knew how much I put up with in my life, until I started breaking down and I see all the colours under my skin. Bleeding out of me in the form of bruises and tears.
Usually I appreciate my personal ability to detach and remain stoic, almost, in situations deemed uncomfortable. I just don’t let them hit me as hard and as fast.
Walk away. Breathe deep and keep my hands in tight fists. Stand further. Look on and don’t blink. Shrug a shoulder. Give a non-committal answer. Turn the cheek.
Be alone. Be quiet. Be resolute.
For how long can I hold on? I have been told that dying is selfish. You have no idea how bad I want it on some days. But okay, I give in. I keep breathing and find myself in darkness day after day.
Even my name sheds no light.
So I cry. Constantly guilty of shedding tears on public transport and making strangers uncomfortable. Now I even cry while walking. I cry after hearing his voice. I cry after watching the trees. I cry after listening to a song. My body cries after a long day. I cry for no reason at all, and everything at once.
I just cry.
Then I get told off for crying. Childish and filled with shame.
But just leave me. Let me grief for this unknown my body keeps reminding me that I know nothing of. Let me grief for things I still can’t speak about.
Leave me be.
It is the only release I have, besides thinking of premature death.
(The skies are still blue and the clouds still hang above, but the wind tastes a bit salty. Like the sea, or maybe tears. People still pass you by, and the little sparrows still sing. And I listen to the temple bells ringing to the dance that never ends. Another one, another one, another one.)
Denial is the mind not catching up with the heart.
Days would suddenly seem like the darkest hours while nights might comfort.
Daffodils start growing beneath your ribcage.
Disappearance can be in more ways than one – emotional, psychological, presence and physical.
Dreaming becomes unwanted reminders.
Death pauses more than one life.