Housemates
You and I.. We were housemates for a little while, but in that time I found we had so much in common. Your sickness and my sadness were one and the same, but your malady so overriding I sank to think my small ailment could ride a wave and engulf me in such magnitude.
No, no, of course you are not overwhelmed! I know how you cope, I know how you are strong. I know your laughter, your gentle smile, your shy love that you offered from the start. I saw it in the pegs u put on my laundry to keep the sheets from flying, and in turn, I folded yours, only to sheepishly find that meticulous folding was your pride and joy, and that I had in some way robbed you. I am so sorry, my dear friend. I should have listened to your silence more.
I learnt of your sad malady, and I felt its injustice. I wanted more for you, but you contented yourself to stay in yesterday. Well then, that's where we meet again, for I've come to retrace my steps, to see if my past is still livable. Every year it crumbles a little more, like roman pillars, like plaster peeling. And you? You hang on to it as your only hope, your only making. Here we both float in the fading surreal, my toes gingerly touching the dissolving watery surface of true past, while you have devotedly plunged yourself into it; your only way out is the way back. Not true, my dear. Where is your true hope? The quintessential flavour of purpose?
You moved out yesterday without a fuss. I know you will come back on some nights to spend time here, alone, or with us, and I miss you, and all the love you gave me.
You and I.. We were housemates for a little while, but in that time I found we had so much in common. Your sickness and my sadness were one and the same, but your malady so overriding I sank to think my small ailment could ride a wave and engulf me in such magnitude.
No, no, of course you are not overwhelmed! I know how you cope, I know how you are strong. I know your laughter, your gentle smile, your shy love that you offered from the start. I saw it in the pegs u put on my laundry to keep the sheets from flying, and in turn, I folded yours, only to sheepishly find that meticulous folding was your pride and joy, and that I had in some way robbed you. I am so sorry, my dear friend. I should have listened to your silence more.
I learnt of your sad malady, and I felt its injustice. I wanted more for you, but you contented yourself to stay in yesterday. Well then, that's where we meet again, for I've come to retrace my steps, to see if my past is still livable. Every year it crumbles a little more, like roman pillars, like plaster peeling. And you? You hang on to it as your only hope, your only making. Here we both float in the fading surreal, my toes gingerly touching the dissolving watery surface of true past, while you have devotedly plunged yourself into it; your only way out is the way back. Not true, my dear. Where is your true hope? The quintessential flavour of purpose?
You moved out yesterday without a fuss. I know you will come back on some nights to spend time here, alone, or with us, and I miss you, and all the love you gave me.
