I love you so much. So much that if this love died today, I would ask for your pair of hands.
We’d carry it to the crematorium and set it on fire. Dead love has no place in our lives. Our bones will be oozing with pus from slain promises and bruised trust.
With honesty; every ounce left of it, I will look in your eyes and confess that my heart loved you most. But, it is the ‘omnivorousness’ of the human heart that drifted my eyes from the single bird I had caged to the beautifully colored ones in the depths of the forest.
I would tell you of the nights I left a piece of my heart roasting in their barbecues and came home with painful scabs dried by a hot iron. I would also tell you of the hollowness this filled me with. The remorse I felt for having betrayed your trust.
I would tell you the truth. When I shed tears as you stitched my heart, it wasn’t because the anesthetics didn’t work; it’s because the gentleness with which you touched my wounds hurt me most. It was like poking the dying embers of my guilt and shame, making the fire too big for all the four chambers of my heart, still clogged with fragments of lies. My dear, you didn’t see tears, you saw steam of my evaporating inequities.
In the end, you’ll know I knew you tried to make me better. But hormones outweighed morals in my priority meter. He whose hormones do a shot for– slowly kills his own brain.
As the fire would burn, smoke will rise to the sky, sending a message to the creator that man had set apart what he’d put together. At this point, I will send a prayer for lightening to strike me, and God will not answer like he never does when I ask him for a contented heart. We’ll blame his grace.
I will then ask you, “Mercy, please stab me, kill me and spray my carcass with the ash of our love from the crematorium oven”.
Please don’t bury me. Feed me to birds of prey, Let my life be worth something. A cheater’s flesh is a hearty meal to starving vultures.
Please feed be to the birds of prey, give my death a purpose.