My hand is all shaky because of the smoking, so pardon me. I know you can’t
tell; this was meant to be written not typed, so pardon me. I am not
writing for you but rather for me, so pardon me. As my head gets clearer,
the image of the moon I saw tonight sharpens. Its yellow glow cast over the
drifting clouds was magical. It made my head spin. Or probably that was
still the smoke, if so, pardon me. The sound of my (mind) midnight tea
boiling on the gas distracts me. I wonder where you’ve gone to. I wonder
why you don’t talk to me. I beat myself up every time and then wait for you
to come and rescue me. I sit on the bench at the corner of my head uttering
silly words waiting for you to fill in the blanks of the conversation, as
you sometimes do. I hear nothing. But if I have learnt anything from our
prior encounters, is that you are as unreliable as desert rain. You show up
at will and leave without warning. You kill me every time. The silence I so
much crave for makes me lose my mind. But you know this, because you are
me. Still you let me die like I’m some pet you’d rather not have anymore.
Still you watch, from wherever you go to, as these a thousand exploding
suns within me consume me. I hate you. I hate me.
This is not a journal.
It is fiction.
You do not exist.
I want to sleep.
But, I will tell you anyway. I will leave this note so that if the gods
will you, you will read it when they will you. When will you? Is my writing
“Who the fuck are you asking?”
Hello? Are you there?
Come back… No. Don’t. Stay. I am writing a note. I was to leave you a note.
Yesterday, I made a confession. Yesterday I cheated on you. Yes, I
deliberately broke this solemn vow of silence that you have kept me in; to
another person. And she did not ask questions. She waved it off like it was
no big deal. See? I told you I don’t have a problem. And she understands
“What’s her name?”
Ha-ha. So now you are back. Feeling threatened, dear old me?
Feeling like I have the option of leaving you too? Feeling like you’d be as
empty as an abyss if I left?
Welcome to the fucking club, you inconsistent, self absorbed, narcissistic
son of a bitch. I am leaving you.
“No you aren’t.”
I do not need you.
I will break to pieces and it will be beautiful. Who cares if there’s no
one to appreciate the splendor? Not me.
I do need you.
But you don’t deserve another page.
Bye, have a nice life.
I have her now.
“You don’t have anyone.”