Asghar Abbas's Blog - Posts Tagged "2025"
Summer Thief.
It's nothing. I carry it so well, though. There is nothing but silence; there is nothing much in this silence, but I carry it just so. Well. I carry this act of letting go and patch it with the action of moving on. It's nothing but my silence, I carry it so well, in my silence. I carry nothing except my silence here, and that's not nothing, carry on.
I have not cocooned myself in unmet expectations when I have been wrapping my body fully in a cloth full of full disappointments. Nothing, it's nothing. It's nothing, it's just silence. It's only silence, that's nothing. It's just silence and nothing else. It's nothing but silence.
The silence of others doesn't bother me, even if the otherness of friends does. I'm in my own silence, letting go, I'm comfortably healing in my own silence. Other than that, I am silent in my own silence.
I have been in my head, bearing the full weight of a reanimated corpse of something that's not yet gone, carrying it around like it's still alive. It's misplaced, this thing. I have just been grieving so much and so hard for something that's not just my own to grieve. Something that's not just wholly my own to grieve. This grief. It's my own to grieve, but it's not mine. I have been grieving a thing so intangible, it's scattered throughout but not lost. I have been grieving something not quite lost.
Where are all those copses that I used to nestle all my faces into? It's all broken, all of it, everything, something broke in a way that I cannot fix it now. I cannot put into these words how much it is breaking me to watch this once familiar lighthouse turn into such a stranger. You had raised the bar so high that you yourself have fallen so short to meet it. Your absence fractured my mind in such a way that your presence cannot fix it. You can't take anything more from me. And there's nothing you'll be able to give me now. Not even nothingness, and that's not nothing. Now I'm left with what's left of my lighthouse, dwelling in it, but nothing is swelling within my swollen heart. Now I'm by and by myself, not by callouses or desertion but by the choice of both.
Now that I have the emptied lighthouse to myself again, like it was before and after, I find myself completely in it and empty, by desertion of my own choice. I'm empty here, the sleek waters and bricks. The crumbling stone walls are no longer slicked by voices, silent and otherwise. In this quieted lighthouse, I had to quiet two similar voices, of the two non-humans no longer around, to forget two is less hard than forgetting one. To let go of one is the same as letting go of the other, because they are one and the same and the other.
I had let the right one in twice, and that was so wrong. And I let the wrong one in all the time at the right time, and that was right and alright, I have. It felt so right, I liked it so much.
Alighted from that very thought. Here I am in my own quieted place. I don't feel alone. I am alone.
Now that I'm this empty in this emptied out space, in the lighthouse, what do I do with these echoes that are still stirring? I was there when no one else was. Too much has happened between us and not enough.
I'm left burdened with the knowledge that you are not a deserter but a thief. You know exactly what you have been stealing from me in the summer that was summer to me, smelling quite ripe. The audacity isn't really what you have been taking from me, but in forgetting what you took from me was something you gave me yourself before giving me yourself, before giving up yourself, right before you gave up.
It's a struggle, really, eternal everyday. Just one thing can occupy my mind at a time. My words or you. Once. Once upon a time here. You had replaced my words; what can replace you now, though, who can take your place? You took that with you, thief. A lone hairband on the side of the bathtub, what does it matter now, the tub is not getting filled, mermaid long since drowned.
It's carmine now, summer fleeting, no one is bleeding, no one is stealing anything now, no teeth marks, only these woods. It's so pointless, there is a point. It's not raining now, no one is listening to the rain, we were. I said what I said because that's what needed to be said.
My armored words, where are they now? How can I use them when I'm saying this plainly, I had loved you so completely that it completed me, and it was not enough, it's not enough. In a certain light, after some point, I loved you; I have loved you. At some level, I had loved you for years, and so much, I didn't know what to do with it. I had all this love and nowhere to go.
At this breaking point, despite all the history and histrionics, I know this: I loved you more than you loved me; you simply didn't love me as much as I loved you. Only your false coins convinced me otherwise. In this false light, that much is true. You could fall, it's not your fault you failed to meet me there, your failure to do so is. Maybe the fools are those who die. But the fool that I am, I know I have been foolishly buying your love with my own, only to find out that you love yourself more. What a non-barter. No one is ever gone, and it's never too late. This, you gave me. I have loved you not at all and too much.
It's nothing. You are everywhere now, you were everything, now you are nothing, and that's not nothing.
I have not cocooned myself in unmet expectations when I have been wrapping my body fully in a cloth full of full disappointments. Nothing, it's nothing. It's nothing, it's just silence. It's only silence, that's nothing. It's just silence and nothing else. It's nothing but silence.
The silence of others doesn't bother me, even if the otherness of friends does. I'm in my own silence, letting go, I'm comfortably healing in my own silence. Other than that, I am silent in my own silence.
I have been in my head, bearing the full weight of a reanimated corpse of something that's not yet gone, carrying it around like it's still alive. It's misplaced, this thing. I have just been grieving so much and so hard for something that's not just my own to grieve. Something that's not just wholly my own to grieve. This grief. It's my own to grieve, but it's not mine. I have been grieving a thing so intangible, it's scattered throughout but not lost. I have been grieving something not quite lost.
Where are all those copses that I used to nestle all my faces into? It's all broken, all of it, everything, something broke in a way that I cannot fix it now. I cannot put into these words how much it is breaking me to watch this once familiar lighthouse turn into such a stranger. You had raised the bar so high that you yourself have fallen so short to meet it. Your absence fractured my mind in such a way that your presence cannot fix it. You can't take anything more from me. And there's nothing you'll be able to give me now. Not even nothingness, and that's not nothing. Now I'm left with what's left of my lighthouse, dwelling in it, but nothing is swelling within my swollen heart. Now I'm by and by myself, not by callouses or desertion but by the choice of both.
Now that I have the emptied lighthouse to myself again, like it was before and after, I find myself completely in it and empty, by desertion of my own choice. I'm empty here, the sleek waters and bricks. The crumbling stone walls are no longer slicked by voices, silent and otherwise. In this quieted lighthouse, I had to quiet two similar voices, of the two non-humans no longer around, to forget two is less hard than forgetting one. To let go of one is the same as letting go of the other, because they are one and the same and the other.
I had let the right one in twice, and that was so wrong. And I let the wrong one in all the time at the right time, and that was right and alright, I have. It felt so right, I liked it so much.
Alighted from that very thought. Here I am in my own quieted place. I don't feel alone. I am alone.
Now that I'm this empty in this emptied out space, in the lighthouse, what do I do with these echoes that are still stirring? I was there when no one else was. Too much has happened between us and not enough.
I'm left burdened with the knowledge that you are not a deserter but a thief. You know exactly what you have been stealing from me in the summer that was summer to me, smelling quite ripe. The audacity isn't really what you have been taking from me, but in forgetting what you took from me was something you gave me yourself before giving me yourself, before giving up yourself, right before you gave up.
It's a struggle, really, eternal everyday. Just one thing can occupy my mind at a time. My words or you. Once. Once upon a time here. You had replaced my words; what can replace you now, though, who can take your place? You took that with you, thief. A lone hairband on the side of the bathtub, what does it matter now, the tub is not getting filled, mermaid long since drowned.
It's carmine now, summer fleeting, no one is bleeding, no one is stealing anything now, no teeth marks, only these woods. It's so pointless, there is a point. It's not raining now, no one is listening to the rain, we were. I said what I said because that's what needed to be said.
My armored words, where are they now? How can I use them when I'm saying this plainly, I had loved you so completely that it completed me, and it was not enough, it's not enough. In a certain light, after some point, I loved you; I have loved you. At some level, I had loved you for years, and so much, I didn't know what to do with it. I had all this love and nowhere to go.
At this breaking point, despite all the history and histrionics, I know this: I loved you more than you loved me; you simply didn't love me as much as I loved you. Only your false coins convinced me otherwise. In this false light, that much is true. You could fall, it's not your fault you failed to meet me there, your failure to do so is. Maybe the fools are those who die. But the fool that I am, I know I have been foolishly buying your love with my own, only to find out that you love yourself more. What a non-barter. No one is ever gone, and it's never too late. This, you gave me. I have loved you not at all and too much.
It's nothing. You are everywhere now, you were everything, now you are nothing, and that's not nothing.
Book Jumpers.
19th November 2024
Kelowna, BC. 16th Nov.
Retelling.
To Javeria Abbas,
Rosenheim 2024.
Dear J;
I am writing this letter after talking to you for four straight hours, and that too, after a long, hard month. Coming off from talking to you, I am writing this in this way, so personally, in my horrible, horrible handwriting. Finally, I understand what you meant when you said you wanted a letter from me. See, after knowing you for so long and this intimately, I can still misknow you, hehe. But I get it now. So I am writing it how you wanted me to on 20th August. See, it took me a while. But I am finally writing you the letter you originally wanted, That Letter, this one. You know what? I was thinking about the LOVERS card and what you wrote in April. It is funny. How I am the WRITER, yet what you said there made me feel so much. You moved me then and now every time we have a spat (this last time is the final fight), I think back to that card, what you said in it, that I must keep that feeling alive and never give up or give up on you, give you up? Never and keep fighting.
For Us. So that's what I do when we fight: I keep fighting for us. I want to take this space to ask for your forgiveness, one last time, for hurting you. You have been my safest space, and by that I mean, I have been yours, safest space, and if you allow me to, I'll spend this remaining lifetime making you feel safe within that safe space again. I will make it up to you, I will, I will reforge your trust if you let me. I'll love you properly this time. I am so sorry for all the hurt, I am. You often call me your best friend, but I disagree with this term. What we are, best friends, does not even begin to cover it. What you are to me is my person, my favorite one. You'd often call me yours, that term I agree with. There is a point and a lesson here.
Before you, pre-2016, I had no real friends, so to speak, of course. Without you, I wouldn't even know what it is like to have a good friend in my life. What it meant. Someone who has your back at all times. Before you, I didn't know what friendship truly meant. You have been real and a dear friend. As your friend, I want to tell you this. I am going to be a bestselling author. But I am not doing it without you. You will be by my side, I'll have you by my side. You see, you see me. You make me feel seen. Doesn't matter what year, no matter. I am always happy thinking of you. Whenever I do think of you, and I do, it makes me happy, like there is a person who is there for me, my person, favorite one.
I draw strength from you, of you, from my relationship with you, of our trust, from it. You are like my superpower. Within that purple pulse, you are my power. So, I want to show you this. Oftentimes, I'd find myself in my woods, again and again, to be in them I consider it to be sacred, I am never scared there, but I do adore your BUTT, but standing amidst my trees, whispering my own words is my way of worshipping something. Only way I worship anything now. And saying your Name there in the woods is the closest I'll ever come to prayers again. When I see you again, I'll kiss you between your legs, saying your name. There will be my version of an acoustic prayer. I love you, still. You will always be that person who made me feel a little less afraid of the world.
I love that you showed me how not to live a limited life, not to limit myself, or to let others limit me in any way. And listen, 2019-2023 will always be more beautiful than this. Also, I am writing that other Letter, it's not about my writing, it's all about you, every word, just I have a lot to say about you. How can I not? As long as there is a YOU, there will be a ME.
ASGHAR ABBAS
2024. November. 20th.
My room here
Canada round 2.
P.S. You were right, you know, I never should have let you walk away from my life. I should never have let you go to Germany. Now I must mourn the loss of your presence. Loss of your tangibility is something I'll mourn until there is nothing left to be mourned on this earth.
P.P.S I have always wanted more. I want it all. I want everything. I want more. With you, for a little while, it seemed like I could have had it all; it feels that way, because with you, I did have it, ALL. Without you, what is there to have? And Now? Now I am listing in this lake, in this shipless ocean, I am awaiting to mount a ship to take me home. But will it bring me home?
My home is not a home without you because you were my home, and you are no longer home; no place is home without you. You are not there; without you, there is nothing planetary about this planet anymore. What is the purpose of being on this planet when we are not on similar planes anymore? What's the point of sharing a singular planet when we cannot share each other's lives now, you tell me!
Things are bad right now, everything, not between us, but in general and overall. But I think I have kept my promise to myself, just as you have kept my words, all of them. I loved you, here, in all the places I didn't think of you before. I don't know why that was last year. When you have always been so familiar, you have been my familiar. I recognize you from everywhere. I know you from every timeline, every single one. It's just that we messed this one up; we made a mess of things in this timeline.
This is why I can't let you let me go, why we can't let go of each other. I am walking in my woods now, as I walk in my woods in search of something, I am aware that the Witch I love, want, and need is not there. The witch I am looking for is not in my woods. Where is she? I don't even know. I thought of something else, thinking about that. It has been so long since I have actually loved a mermaid.
When you were with me, I never had to think about the things I like. Your presence was a constant reminder of everything I liked because everything about you is what I liked. I don't know much, but I know this. I'll see you soon, so see you. I'll see you after the jump. Let's just match cut our scenes and match them now, and jump cut to when we are in one place again, when you are here and I am there, and we are finally together again.
When we are in Europe, Kelowna, and more importantly, Karachi. I am in Canada right now, for now, in this Okanagan region, in beautiful British Columbia, but what we had in Pakistan will always be much more beautiful. As I was trying to get it out, I became familiar with our story; it has no end, so I will never finish telling it, for I know our storied Story will never be over.
Broken Time Machine.
Busted up Delorean.
Fractured Timeline.
We are out of time.
Finally and Forever.
Kelowna, BC. 16th Nov.
Retelling.
To Javeria Abbas,
Rosenheim 2024.
Dear J;
I am writing this letter after talking to you for four straight hours, and that too, after a long, hard month. Coming off from talking to you, I am writing this in this way, so personally, in my horrible, horrible handwriting. Finally, I understand what you meant when you said you wanted a letter from me. See, after knowing you for so long and this intimately, I can still misknow you, hehe. But I get it now. So I am writing it how you wanted me to on 20th August. See, it took me a while. But I am finally writing you the letter you originally wanted, That Letter, this one. You know what? I was thinking about the LOVERS card and what you wrote in April. It is funny. How I am the WRITER, yet what you said there made me feel so much. You moved me then and now every time we have a spat (this last time is the final fight), I think back to that card, what you said in it, that I must keep that feeling alive and never give up or give up on you, give you up? Never and keep fighting.
For Us. So that's what I do when we fight: I keep fighting for us. I want to take this space to ask for your forgiveness, one last time, for hurting you. You have been my safest space, and by that I mean, I have been yours, safest space, and if you allow me to, I'll spend this remaining lifetime making you feel safe within that safe space again. I will make it up to you, I will, I will reforge your trust if you let me. I'll love you properly this time. I am so sorry for all the hurt, I am. You often call me your best friend, but I disagree with this term. What we are, best friends, does not even begin to cover it. What you are to me is my person, my favorite one. You'd often call me yours, that term I agree with. There is a point and a lesson here.
Before you, pre-2016, I had no real friends, so to speak, of course. Without you, I wouldn't even know what it is like to have a good friend in my life. What it meant. Someone who has your back at all times. Before you, I didn't know what friendship truly meant. You have been real and a dear friend. As your friend, I want to tell you this. I am going to be a bestselling author. But I am not doing it without you. You will be by my side, I'll have you by my side. You see, you see me. You make me feel seen. Doesn't matter what year, no matter. I am always happy thinking of you. Whenever I do think of you, and I do, it makes me happy, like there is a person who is there for me, my person, favorite one.
I draw strength from you, of you, from my relationship with you, of our trust, from it. You are like my superpower. Within that purple pulse, you are my power. So, I want to show you this. Oftentimes, I'd find myself in my woods, again and again, to be in them I consider it to be sacred, I am never scared there, but I do adore your BUTT, but standing amidst my trees, whispering my own words is my way of worshipping something. Only way I worship anything now. And saying your Name there in the woods is the closest I'll ever come to prayers again. When I see you again, I'll kiss you between your legs, saying your name. There will be my version of an acoustic prayer. I love you, still. You will always be that person who made me feel a little less afraid of the world.
I love that you showed me how not to live a limited life, not to limit myself, or to let others limit me in any way. And listen, 2019-2023 will always be more beautiful than this. Also, I am writing that other Letter, it's not about my writing, it's all about you, every word, just I have a lot to say about you. How can I not? As long as there is a YOU, there will be a ME.
ASGHAR ABBAS
2024. November. 20th.
My room here
Canada round 2.
P.S. You were right, you know, I never should have let you walk away from my life. I should never have let you go to Germany. Now I must mourn the loss of your presence. Loss of your tangibility is something I'll mourn until there is nothing left to be mourned on this earth.
P.P.S I have always wanted more. I want it all. I want everything. I want more. With you, for a little while, it seemed like I could have had it all; it feels that way, because with you, I did have it, ALL. Without you, what is there to have? And Now? Now I am listing in this lake, in this shipless ocean, I am awaiting to mount a ship to take me home. But will it bring me home?
My home is not a home without you because you were my home, and you are no longer home; no place is home without you. You are not there; without you, there is nothing planetary about this planet anymore. What is the purpose of being on this planet when we are not on similar planes anymore? What's the point of sharing a singular planet when we cannot share each other's lives now, you tell me!
Things are bad right now, everything, not between us, but in general and overall. But I think I have kept my promise to myself, just as you have kept my words, all of them. I loved you, here, in all the places I didn't think of you before. I don't know why that was last year. When you have always been so familiar, you have been my familiar. I recognize you from everywhere. I know you from every timeline, every single one. It's just that we messed this one up; we made a mess of things in this timeline.
This is why I can't let you let me go, why we can't let go of each other. I am walking in my woods now, as I walk in my woods in search of something, I am aware that the Witch I love, want, and need is not there. The witch I am looking for is not in my woods. Where is she? I don't even know. I thought of something else, thinking about that. It has been so long since I have actually loved a mermaid.
When you were with me, I never had to think about the things I like. Your presence was a constant reminder of everything I liked because everything about you is what I liked. I don't know much, but I know this. I'll see you soon, so see you. I'll see you after the jump. Let's just match cut our scenes and match them now, and jump cut to when we are in one place again, when you are here and I am there, and we are finally together again.
When we are in Europe, Kelowna, and more importantly, Karachi. I am in Canada right now, for now, in this Okanagan region, in beautiful British Columbia, but what we had in Pakistan will always be much more beautiful. As I was trying to get it out, I became familiar with our story; it has no end, so I will never finish telling it, for I know our storied Story will never be over.
Broken Time Machine.
Busted up Delorean.
Fractured Timeline.
We are out of time.
Finally and Forever.
