"The screams from the attic were too much to bear. 'Do you even know my favorite book or anything that makes me happy?' The attic reeked of burnt raspberry jam and roasted hard buns, a far cry from the daisies and Arabian jasmine that once filled the air.
..."I don't know, I don't recall, I...I..." He trailed off, his silence deafening. Laughter turned to shouts, kisses turned to bruises, and care converted to hate—all in the flash of a moment, perhaps the result of untended communication.
"How would you? You're selfish. All these years, you've been a parasite, feeding off my joy, and when confronted, you reveal your true self—a coward." Her voice was clenched with sobs.
The story doesn't seem familiar to the past; usually, it's predictable to blame the past for the confused, constricted present. After a long pause, he hesitated to form words, but managed to comfort his beloved by offering his hands, wiping away tears. She flunked in fear.
"I genuinely don't know what you love, but your eyes sparkle at the coffee scene in Meet Joe Black, you dance to Juhi Chawla and Shahrukh's beautiful song 'Mai koi aisa geet gau,' you savor spicy noodles while watching Harry Potter, and rush to eat chocolates in between, even if you hate them. You cry while reading John Donne and forcibly spoil a book's ending because you know people won't read it anyway..."
The coffee mug reflected their marriage—asymmetrically lying on the ground, a little bloodied from stumbling and saving each other. One wanted to save the 6-year-old mug, while the other wanted to save the 6-year-old warmth they now lacked. Along with the fallen, smashed mug smeared with a StarLab quote, their comfort had smashed to pieces. Was it anger or envy trying to cement the situation? In both cases, it only hardens the heart.
Anger betrays the sanity of the soul. So, hold yourself in the cave of patience when your heart races with anger. I've tried millions of times, only to recognize the pattern in the layers of painful cysts. Hypothetically, insanity plunges into physical manifestations—headaches, blackouts, fever, and hallucinations. Anger betrays grief with screams. Grief is a luxury.
During childhood, she preferred knocking on the door to stop the screams she heard, which plunged her heart into fear and agony. He, on the other hand, held his hands over his ears in his room to erase the grotesque happenings in the next room of his parents' home. Comfort softened the brittle memories when they married each other, promising never to wound each other, even by mistake. Eventually, the bullets of situations managed to incapacitate their beautiful home.
The worst part for someone with light, having been in darkness for so long, is that they don't flinch twice while pouring water on the little ignition left. Some stories end with 'happily ever after,' while most end with grief, unheard and merely written—like two of my treasured ones,
“...Even after having so much love, they made each other believe they were no longer...”
“Believe me, I don't want to be the woman you love.”
In the end, either one of them walked away.
It is so enchanting to read , you write every blog post so well . Keep the hard work going and good luck.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much Di for always appreciating my work 💓🌸
DeleteIt is so enchanting to read. You write every blog post so well. Keep up the hard work and good luck 🤞♥️🌼💯
ReplyDelete