She was the kind of girl
Who didn’t blink when you told her
She was pretty.
She was the kind
Who became giddy when you told her
Her words were pretty.
That’s what made her ecstatic.
That’s what made her feel alive.
Words, hers and yours.
7 saal baad kisi ne pucha
“kyun laut-ti thi baar baar?
Apne aatm-sammaan ko bech diya jaise.”
“koi bhaari karz chukaana tha shayad.
Abhi bhi baaki sa lagta hai kuch.”
Someone asked me after 7 years,
“Why did you go back again and again?
It’s as if you had no self-respect left.”
“I had to pay off a heavy debt, I guess.
I still feel like there’s some more left.”
When he had promised me forever,
I knew he was lying.
I had wanted to believe him though.
I wasn’t naive.
It wasn’t my first love.
He wasn’t my teenage happily ever after.
I had had a broken heart for far too long.
I had just wanted it to be whole again.
Just for a little while.
Home is where we begin.
Where we learn to feel welcome.
Without these roots, our love isn’t stable. It crumbles under its own weight.
Here, the soul curls its toes. Here, the heart vibrates.
Home isn’t a place.
It’s so much more.
They say you sense doom from far, far away.
I hadn’t seen the destruction.
I hadn’t heard the heartbreaking wails.
I hadn’t smelled the stench of unending hurt.
I hadn’t tasted the salt in the tears.
I hadn’t moved the vessel of my being,
Lying like a corpse at his feet.
I hadn’t backed away from my doom.
I hadn’t sensed.
They often asked me
If I’d known from the beginning
I’d end up with a mess of a heart.
I can’t tell them I’d known
When my eyes had first connected
With his amethyst ones
Across the room
That he’ll be my destruction.
He had smiled that crooked smile
And I’d experienced
My first heartbreak.