dear you,

5 days 14 hours and 43 minutes
is how long we've been apart.

and already i crave your insistent mouth,
pressing itself against my gasping soul.

i miss you.
and that translates as this:
i am plunging into the familiar abyss
with enough force
to shatter every single bone
in my body.

The Unabridged Journal of Sylvia Plath

"The blood of love welled up in my heart with a slow pain.

I am afraid. I am not solid but hollow. I feel behind my eyes a numb paralyzed cavern, a pit of hell, a mimicking nothingness."

Dear you,

You ruined me. And I hope you know that.

You throw my entire soul into confusion. I was born in the darkness, I thrived in the darkness. I fed on melancholy and depression but the few months that we had been together you denied me my occasional dose of dysphoria. These few months were the happiest I had ever been, and I had never known such happiness.  You were my prozac with yet unknown side effects and I knew that I shouldn't get too attached, but I was never really that good with moderation when it comes to love.

But all that was good and well when we were together. It was when I had to leave that things began to spin out of control. It is weird, to say the least. It is weird not to have you around all the time, it is weird to not be able to touch you, to see you and God I miss you. My tear-soaked pillow would testify to that.

All of a sudden, nothing seemed to be right. I am a stranger in this world that seems all too foreign and alien and I trudge through the days drugged and sick to my stomach. Sleeping became an unfamiliar concept, so did eating and breathing. The only thing in the entire world that made sense right now was crying. And even though it in no way made things any better - it fact, it might even have exacerbated things - there is a raw and barbarous joy in crying. And it is the closest thing to happiness these days.

I miss you. Every single cell in my body screams it. The 13000 kilometers between us is palpable - I could breathe it in the air.

I miss you. You ruined me. I miss you. I love you.

just saying

i don't want to make any promises but i might start writing here again soon.

you should never have loved me

i love you the way old joints hurt
aching and grinding into each other
as if they want to merge
and meld together.

i love you
but i would wear you down to dust
if i could. 

this is what tanha is all about

this skeleton aches in the absence of you;
weeping too hard, shivering too violently
these phalanges creak in desperation,
trying to grasp something that is
simply not there.

dear A,

you are the fissure between two eternities:
an intermission between plays,
a deliberate comma between protracted phrases that had
long since lost their meaning.

in your arms time wilts, shrivels and dies.

and in this stretch of timelessness,
we are expanding bodies of nebulae,
fed and sustained on the delusional idea of each other.

but this will never be enough.
and we will always be incorporeal.
and we will never be complete.

A Song of Chopin

(in four movements)

back ramrod straight; arms poised in mid-air:

and the notes would drop like snowflakes,

crystalline and clean and ephemeral.

one.

there are ink stains on her

wrists, cheekbones and chin - 

they spread vein-like over her translucent skin.

people try to hide their secrets

but sometimes, secrets are exactly what they are:

dirty.

two.

the sun god apollo fell in love with daphne

who was a nymph, with lead in her heart

she couldn’t love him (not with a heart of lead)

and begged to be free of him.  

her skin transformed into bark, her outstretched arms the branches reaching into the sky

and her hair was the leaves whispering in the wind –

but even then Apollo loved her and kissed her root-turned-feet

and granted her immortality.

three.

he knows that writing her love letters everyday

would not make her come back.

she loved him once, twice even,

but she never loved him the way he loved her:

as if she was a gaudy, orange-colored life buoy floating

in a sea in which he is perpetually drowning.

four.

alice alice where are you

because she is always looking for alice.

she checks the rabbit-hole underneath the vervain bush

and the looking glass behind the mantel place

(the mirror smashed into smithereens as her finger made contact

with the glass and the rabbit-hole is covered up in dirt).

she didn’t think that

she would see alice ever again.  

this is what love feels like

 There are huge gaping wounds on my body

Where you dipped your fingers into my flesh

If I close my eyes I wouldn't have to see
the hideous scars; like black, yawning, abysmal
mouths, but I can still remember
your shaking hands
sinking into me and gripping me
by the bones.
And at that moment I understood
what being in love meant.

Just Dropping In To Announce That I'm Not Dead. Yet.