Friday, February 26, 2010

It's not love if it isn't dysfunctional.


She used to hide in his black shawl when the universe blinked as one upon her.

Every morning I woke up, consumed by the agitation of your thoughts. What does make you present everywhere that a slow tenderness traces in my blood? Come to me with the first raw of dawn, because I survive in you.

I'm watching you, as you sleep.



He touched her neck as she cried for the world. Consumed by rage at how easily she got hurt, at her, at the rest of her world. Rage was a physical expression until it was a white out and then even the drugs didn't seem to work.

I miss Rose and Pistachio body butter and the smell of freshly pressed laundry. And sometimes you.

He read her letters over and over till the words became a part of him. He hated her for going away, for having dreams, ambitions while all he wanted to do was just lie there and play with her hair. Her hair.

Remember that day you asked me if you could comb my hair? That was the day I fell in love with you.

Ownership, complete possession of her. Nothing short of that would please him. Sometimes he wanted to scream at her and break her up into pieces and break those pieces into more pieces and then put them back together to show he was the only one would do that. He wanted to take her away and hide her so that no other living, breathing being ever saw her again. With an overwhelmingly violent force, she was his. His. His. And in his head, nothing could ever change that.

I have stepped out of myself, and been walking alone beneath the enormous evening sky. I think there were tears in the car I heard pass. So much of this evening music has wounded me enough. I want to carve the world around you, the one I have imagined. I'm trying to figure out, what is it in you, that makes me such a mad wanderer of this city?

Remember the first time that we danced? The way I hated to be controlled, was unwilling to be led.

In a room full of people, on the rosewood floor, he grasped her hand in a tight clutch and held her closer than would ever be appropriate. They were both angry and controlling. They were crudely similar inspite of aeons of differences that set them apart, made them fall irrevocably in a careless, possessed love.

The guy is meant to lead.
You're not leading me.
Watch me.
She smiled.
Tighter. Closer. Till she could not breathe.
Take a dip, fall backwards, let me catch you. But she was so stiff. So unwilling to let go.
Trust me.
He smiled into her eyes.
She did.
Dancing is just so sexy.


People I don't know come and ask me to never get my hair cut. It rains here everyday like it has never rained before. That day, there was a long black dress with bronze jewels wrapped around the neck. Men, they flocked. Asked for a dance. Got turned down, came back. For a moment under the chandelier, I waited for you.

He hated her freedoms. How she was always floating.

And he hated how other men in other parts of the world looked at her and held her and how with a superior, dismissive smile, she'd give them another dance.

1 comment:

  1. "I have stepped out of myself, and been walking alone beneath the enormous evening sky."
    You make it real and part of me every time.

    ReplyDelete