whimsy. (older prose piece)

and the years come cascading down;

i’ll be the first to admit that i dream way too much, i often confuse my inane fantasies as memories, keeping half the truth and burning the other half for warmth. by now, you’ve deduced that i am the unreliable narrator, spinning confectionaries out of thin air, burying trauma in the backwaters of my subconscious. self-imposed isolation, i try to speak the right things but could never reach the right words, and when i could, the weight of a thousand what ifs would crush me. but it’s okay – the sounds of silence was my favourite song, i’d close my eyes and let myself drift into realities that were never meant to be. the ticking clock marries the beating of my heart and birth musings in litters. and so, began the story of us that grew roots that clutched my heart, squeezing every time i tried to uproot it like a weed. this was my fault for not being fastidious about the truth.

you – my songbirds only sing songs of you, can you blame me for sprouting more poetry, more prose that are meant for you, and your eyes only? though it’s a bit easier to breathe to know that you will never come across this, to know that, you will never come across this infinitely intimate words. there is another comfort to know that i am penning words that were born to die, they live for mere moments as their ink dries, only to be stirred back to life, the moment you, my dear reader, decide to will them into existence.

i loved you once. i suffer from the same ailment as all poets who’ve loved; i’ll never let those memories die. i’ll take the rawest parts of you, and soften it into love poetry. i think of when your hands first clasped mine, your incendiary touch set me ablaze, and then some. you’re right, my dear reader, to think it’s pathetic of how little it takes to stir something in someone so vulnerable, but the truth is when you’ve spent the majority of your life wondering if you could kiss death, just once – you’ll take it. i say this, not to provoke sympathy in you reader, but to prod you into realizing the world feels so much smaller, so much safer when i make it about you.

but reality bites back – here i am, mourning something that never existed.