She was created for others too

I loved sunsets. That is past tense. Ever since you walked out of the door, sunrise and sunset have no difference to me, of what effect is sunshine on a soul so dark without the brightness of your smile? Sure, the sun shines but it was the tilts of your front teeth that reflected the light in right angles to illuminate the darkest corners of my life whenever you smiled.

The sunsets aren’t any better, I stand at the balcony, watching as face of the sun folds in orange wrinkles and all am left with is lethargic feeling, bits of pebbles form in my throat and I choke at my own indulgence in nostalgic thoughts of our past, my waist is yet to forget what it felt like to have your arms around it. Counting birds is no longer a potent therapy to me and the breeze maims my olfactory with your cologne, I don’t know the scent of nature anymore. Echoes of your giggles keep interrupting my meditations, and my mind refrain from focus and tenaciously grip to every detail of the ‘Us’ we were, my meditations turn into fantasies, the silence turns into your whispers, giggles, sobs, hiccups, slithers and muffled moans. I meditate to clearly see my goals, but I see you remove the posts.

I remember we gave each other names, names that were sweet music to our ears, names that assured us that destiny curved a path that only the two of us could tread on. Names that etched love on every corner of my thoughts. But these names now torture me, these names still haunt me. There is nothing more haunting than a name that refuses to die with its bearer, it’s a spirit always hovering, asking questions, pressing charges and worst of all eroding a mind that no space is left for seeds of nothingness to sprout. I want nothing of you. I don’t want to remember you. But how can’t I remember you when everything my eyes latch upon reminds me of you? In the night, I look at the sky, the black canvas that we once drew our love on; the constellations whose beauty we reveled at, the falling stars that serenaded our love every night now mock me. They laugh at the darkness I’ve become. They gossip of how hollow I’ve become ever since you left.

I don’t want to remember you.  The memories of you to me are what a blacksmith’s furnace is to steel, it hurts, it wounds and maims but it curves steel into treasure box sought by royals. I am wondering what your memories are curving me into. I was kind of dyslexic, for how could I fail to read the signs you showed? Most probably you never showed any sign. Ours was a smooth terrain,

Our names spelt love
And the illusion that it was created for us
Barred me from seeing the truth,
The truth; that you were created for others too.

10 thoughts on “She was created for others too”

  1. Happiness forgets, what loneliness remember’s dear George!
    We are breastfed in a theatrical sphere called this world.
    We WIN, no matter how small it is, we seldom lose!
    Nobody made rules about love and affection as we were born, we had to find our way!
    I say, in life this thing called love is complicated to say the least.
    Go with the flow. Memories are/can be good. Set not your heart in pain mode, as the intelligence I feel you posses will see you through!
    I again hope you have a worthy day!
    Best wishes!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. This isn’t a comment but just another poem. this got me *Happiness forgets, what loneliness remembers* I was once told that nobody holds the key to my happiness, now you tell me the same *Set not your heart in pain mode*…good take for a paining day!

      Liked by 1 person

        1. The day any writer begins to be sincere to the pen, writing will become more of a therapy than a hobby. it becomes a vent through which your frailties and inequities leaves. the result is harmony with oneself.

          Liked by 1 person

          1. Well, my job was a Counsellor to crime victims, and I also worked with rape and sexual abuse!
            I am quite often told I’m horrid or evil, because I will be “sincere”!
            Why does the truth feel like a threat?
            I write, and through words I “balance”, a kind of harmony, so I am in no doubt that you have a valid point. I still prefer to just say the things people are afraid of saying!

            Liked by 1 person

            1. People are afraid of everything but mediocre and routine. you must defy these two to piece souls with simple words weaved with shreds of honesty and passion. I’ve read your poems and I can attest you do this.

              Liked by 1 person

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