The Calamity of You. This is I as you have made me. This is I as you would have me. A ballad hangs in the air, a song no one wrote. A poem no one reads. A rhyme no one understands. I am waiting at the edge of a hook. Love is a bitch, and it will always be one.
I keep expecting people to remain the same over the years, and they don’t. My cousin keeps telling me not to expect people to be the same. People change, she tells me. I should get that into my thick head. Not because I was loved before, that doesn’t mean that I’ll be loved again. Not because I was adored before, doesn’t mean I’ll be adored again.I better expound on this. Today? Maybe.
The problem, I believe, is that I look at relationships as some kind of chemical reaction. A + B = C. Automatically. Each time. Perfectly. It doesn’t work that way. Not in real life. Not in this world. Not this time around. I have to learn that people are not simple biomolecules. They are more than just elemental forces that shape the world. They change. They hurt. They weep. They hold grudges, for god’s sake. They find euphoria in someone else’s arms. Oh God, save me from this torment. What did I do wrong again, this time around? For all my scientific training, I cannot comprehend the human heart, especially my own. Why do I wait and want things that never do come?
I gotta put my feet back on the ground. I have to hang in there. I gotta fall out of what I fell into. Nicotine nights tinged with thoughts rummaging through my sensical head. Yes, that’s what I have now. I’m not going crazy anymore. In fact, the sanity is boring a hole through my head. Unwell. Maybe that’s what I am now. Not crazy. Not perfectly sane either. Can someone tell me what happened in that most basic of human deeds? What happened in between?
Did you change?
Or maybe it was I that changed by standing still?
I think my only consolation is that you don’t read this blog.
We’re cool.
I love it.
The fact that I don’t know where this is going, and I don’t know either what you want of me.
I love the uncertainty of it all.
And I’m lying through my teeth.
(Can you tell me now what happened in between?)
I can’t believe you’re gone. I was just talking to you a few days ago. I was just telling you we’ll move on together. Get boys together. Get drunk together. Get wasted together. Now you can’t even see the pretty sunsets that I wanted you to see.
So this is the feeling of those left behind after a suicide: bland, guilty and shameful.
Could I have done something different? Was I not good enough? Was I not there enough?
I remember that I didn’t have a comb the whole time I was in that psych facility/rehab and I had to borrow yours every damn day and it was okay with you. We had all our meals together, killed time talking about anything and everything about our lives outside, how we’d smoke a whole pack of cigs when we got out, how we’d get so fucking wasted once we were free.
What happened to those dreams? What happened to those memories?
They’re all down the drain now. Gone. The word sinks in nastily down the proverbial throat of my mind. I can’t accept that you’re gone. I can’t accept it.
Why did you have to leave so soon? It’s too soon, too early, too presumptive for someone so young and so beautiful.
Jha, I’ll miss you.
I find myself in the middle of something I’m scared of.
It’s a pull between gravity of dreams and waking consciousness that I shouldn’t be doing this.
It’s a cycle all over again.
I call it a phenomenon.
I’ve got a secret special name for it, stashed somewhere in the hallways of my memories.
Memories of people and places gone by.
Things that I should have left behind, but didn’t.
People that I should have long forgotten, but didn’t.
Scents that I should have been immune to, but am not.
When you drink it makes you angry, when I drink I want you more and more and more.
How painfully true.
Even in the darkest and deepest of nights, I see your face.
But whose face and what nights?
I do not know.
Confusion sets in when I am in a dreamlike state.
As in the book I read, The Coma, “Waking is rising.”
But do I really rise? I think I fall. I fall into the abyss of everyday living. Everyday mechanisms of machineries put into place that tell me this: live, sleep, wake, work, wait. In that order and in that order alone.
I am trapped in this cycle.
Get me out.
Get me the fuck out.
You seek me out
At odd hours of the night.
I do no know
What it is you want of me.
Or what I have to give.
But I am here.
I am here, like I said I would be.
It takes so very little for me to feel so lonely.
So very little is required for me to feel abandoned all over again.
The high that thrilled me last week is all gone now.
I’m back to square one.
Waiting, waiting, waiting.
Waiting for things that never do come.
I succumb to the ravages of my own mess.
Desperation seeps through my veins like some liquid coal that is relentless and unforgiving.
Once again, I find myself alone.
