Asghar Abbas's Blog - Posts Tagged "lief"
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.
