This is something that should not be said


    But we are sitting in the ruins of our silence


    So I will talk


    I will speak


    I hope you can listen to me.


    I call the ever unanswered question


    He who survives


    Can he be He who loves?


    My mind skips over the mundane like it is no more


    Yet it isn''t strong enough in its state to breach any surface of kind


    I don''t remember my cup of tea nor my absolute delight


    When I add three cubes of sugar instead of one


    And in the same way alike


    I don''t remember my mother''s grave


    Nor my horrifying sobs that watered the ground.


    I don''t need the tea to survive, you see.


    And in my whirlwind of utterly desperate rush


    I don''t need the love either or what was lost and left of it


    It doesn''t feed it doesn''t heal


    And most days, and I hesitate to say it so glaringly


    It doesn''t reach.


    Let it be known forever and ever


    That a love within survival


    Is as rare as honey in the sea


    You only get the salt of the earth


    The salt of your tears


    And even if it seems at times molasses sweet


    Don''t be foolish enough


    To put salt in a cup of tea.


    I do not wish to see the face you make in front of my shameful admissions


    You who loves and lives and takes honey from the flowers


    You who is closer to the sky than to the sea


    I do not wish to see my estrangement written on your face


    Or in your eyes that I liken to home for someone like me.


    I can''t quite explain, and that perhaps, is a large reason for my reluctance to explain


    I could see it happening before it did


    I who speaks with a scrunched face and a mouth full of salt


    And you who listens with furrowed eyebrows and eyes full of honey


    It is a tragedy waiting to be written


    I simply thought I could wait more.


    But as it is,


    The longer one survives


    The further love strays away from their bones


    You are in my heart and mind and maybe soul


    But my bones don''t carry anything beyond the marrow of my own


    While you bend your bones and break


    Just to make a home for me inside your body


    Inside your world.


    I appreciate it as one does the sun after a freezing cold


    But I also go out at night when you are sound asleep


    Just to let myself feel that utter cold


    I return to bed significantly colder than i left


    And you embrace me with a worried frown even in your rest


    And well


    What a way to tell our story in one night


    What a way to call my tears upon my forever frozen self.


    I have not loved anyone more than I loved you


    And perhaps that is why, most nights, I hate all that is myself


    I am incapable of loving the one my heart beats for


    Where is my ability to seek warmth


    Where is my wish for the light in life


    Gentle sorrow of mine,


    How much have I strayed away


    From my human self?


    I write letters sometimes under the cover of night


    With a faint lamp and stolen glances at your sleeping self


    I write letters with only one destination


    And it is only I that wish I could ever listen to what I write.


    Sometimes, they are long and suffering in their length


    With smudges of ink by a rain in a roofed house


    And sometimes they are only a few words


    Little in number


    And much in despair.


    Sometimes, I rest my face on the desk and breathe


    After spending minutes too long


    Writing three words that should not be a reminder


    Should not be a thought


    Hey, you love.


    Or


    Hey you, love.


    Some things should not be said


    And the same is for writing, I am aware.


    So, at the end of the night and without courage nor right to look at you again


    I go out and burn all the papers i wrote


    Deceiving myself for just a moment


    That i''m doing it for warmth in the colder nights.


    But i do love, and that''s the dilemma


    If one like me existed without love


    It wouldn''t take all this effort just to live


    Like one of the people you see on the other side of the fire


    Warm and smiling


    And leaning towards the light.


    I do love, and I don''t doubt for you to rest my worries


    The problem and I''m well aware


    Is that I love in ways most people can''t take.


    Like going into the sea and offering something of land


    Or going into land and extending a wet hand


    Waiting for anyone or anything


    To accept.


    It is my own sin too, I must say


    That my love has not stayed in the instinctual rooms of the heart


    But grew and withered and reached my mind


    Until I have to tug in a constant war of wisdom and foolishness alike


    Never one role for one


    But both fighting and rebelling


    With a source I found out to be


    Not quite as infinite as the warm people suggest.


    It is, sometimes, necessary for us to let things grow in their own homes


    So that one day you don''t wake up and realise


    That the same place that forgets your tea and mother alike


    Is the one holding the strings to your ever fragile love


    So you don''t realise with a heavy self


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.That while you are loved with the hearts of your dear ones, you love with a neatly written script


    That is somehow supposed to imitate the bashful messiness of a loving one.


    It makes it deceitful but also not quite


    As this is the way I have learnt to love


    And it is in the end,


    My every lasting trial to love those who also love


    And not just survive or think with a feverish pace


    Like my thoughts are somehow gonna move the stones from my road


    Or clear the salt from my being.


    It is quite a burden to be me


    And while I realise my love doesn''t clear that burden from others


    I also realise and perhaps selfishly


    That nobody bears my burden as much as I do.


    And while I despise the life of excuses and all the like


    I am giving myself a break


    For just a while.


    I am trying after all


    No matter how unnatural those tries might be.


    I do not seek much from such words


    I hoped, and it was a blind one


    That I would not speak them into life to begin with


    It is not that I don''t think you are below what is needed to understand


    It is that I think I am below what is needed to be understood.


    And these words will only hurt


    As I can''t see you accepting a love that isn''t solely from the heart


    And I can''t see you clutching the wet hand


    Full of injuries you don''t understand


    Because you, utterly lovely you


    Can''t ever hurt the ones you love


    Even if it is by something as needed as holding their hands.


    But I did speak them because lately, it has almost been like i''m running a one man show


    Whether you are a viewer or an actor I rejected, I am not aware


    But it has been eating away at my soul


    The reality that I don''t quite fit into anything anymore.


    And while it isn''t a jarring nor newly discovered reality


    With time passing,


    I can''t seem to keep up the guise of being human


    Even though I am and down to my marrow will always be


    I can''t seem to figure out an acceptable way


    Of being just that.


    Last week was my mother''s anniversary


    I only know of the fact because you approached me with a gentle smile and a worried nudge


    Asking me about my plans to visit my loved one


    I blinked for long moments, and I could see the realisation coming onto your eyes


    Yet you didn''t seem to know how to deal with such loss.


    Is it a happy moment to be rid of the choking grief


    Or is it a horrifying moment


    For a child to forget his own mother without much remorse?


    Last week, I drank my tea looking at the sky


    It tasted dull.


    I am reminded most funnily by my childhood toy


    It was a little monkey going around in circles with amusing sounds


    It used to last a long time, and my boredom rarely won


    But as it is with everything


    With the years passing, the toy started randomly pausing in the middle of play time


    It would work again quite quickly, but I would still cry unfairness to my mom.


    She would pat my head with a fond smile


    Telling me that toys need rest too, so they can make me happy for a long time.


    I was a child, and I was not quite convinced


    But I let it go and kept watching the ever circling toy


    Except it started to stop completely after some time


    And when I exercised the patience I was trying to learn


    It would come back suddenly like nothing quite happened


    And only the toy and I


    Knew of those moments where it stopped with no sound.


    I didn''t tell my mom about that progression


    She would have probably told me to let it rest for a while


    Or to try a new toy


    And the stubborn child I was, wanted that specific one


    For no reason I can remember now.


    In the long years after such childish woes


    I would sit with my mother over a cup of tea


    Hers so incredibly dull with no sugar


    And mine so sweet she would scrunch her nose


    She would laugh that sweet sound and say


    Remember that toy you could never let go of?


    And I would laugh along and tease


    Trying not to be


    Too much like a toy.


    It is something like that


    I am not quite human


    And nobody has the patience


    To wait for me to learn.


    This week, we sit on the couch


    Bodies tense and hearts clenched


    I don''t know how to tell you about my love


    I am learning I am


    But life is only long in times of convenience


    And this is decidedly not.


    I have not wronged you, not quite.


    You, while with honeyed eyes, knew how to inject venom into anything that does


    Yet there was always a space between us left unfilled


    A silence that should have held the timbres of our love


    A need that was as elusive as it was unfulfilled.


    All my words to this moment should not have been said


    They didn''t follow a script nor adhere to anything they should decidedly be at best


    But they have already been said, so let me, and I am sorry to burden you with this


    Tell you the rest of it.


    I am in love with you, and it is not a truth we can debate


    Most times, I can call that love to touch everything in my wake


    Most times, I can feel it in every vein


    Yet the times I don''t are why we are here.


    Most times, I love you with my first and last breath


    And sometimes


    Sometimes,


    I need to desperately remind myself that I do.


    Your eyes shutter in front of my words with an eerie blank look


    And I swallow and continue my self prophetic end.


    Sometimes, all I show you is painted with trembling hands


    I can''t quite show you my emptiness nor my numbness


    So I throw colours that fit more than not


    And hope you don''t ask.


    Sometimes I love you, but it''s from a script i wrote outside of those moments


    And I can''t quite justify writing that script to begin with


    I just knew


    That my attempt at humanity would fail one day.


    It''s grey, it''s dull, it''s missing three cubes of sugar


    It''s grey, it''s painted, it''s missing the warmth of humans


    It''s me, it''s me, it''s me.