It's been a tough few days, weeks, months, year(s?) since I
found you and started losing you before I even had you I've
gotten sicker and heavier and heavier and heavier and most days I
can't tell sadness and gravity apart
I've let bottles of cheap alcohol and boxes of menthol cigarettes come and go
before I could let you go
let us go
Let me go you bitch
Do I miss you or the feelings? Fuzzy ones, warm ones, like my grey socks but not grey - actually, give me the grey I'd rather not feel anything at all than the deep and unrelenting sadness of being alive
Figures, grey is your favorite color.
Why do I keep coming back to you like a
-a stuck anchor? you're still my only point of reference I know nothing else and I can't progress
Like driving 8030 km with the handbrake on-
I made it, but does anything work anymore?
I'm still here in these grey sheets I bought to remind me of you so of course they…
people who've been married for any amount of time need to be showing us what love looks like
they should be smiling at each other and laughing at each other's jokes not making jokes at each other's expense, they should hold hands and make beautiful homes full of pictures and paintings and candles, they should plant roses if they can - or cacti - they should share lives not rooms
they should not live their lives handcuffed to each other, skirting conversation and confrontation, running in circles from the truth of having missed out-of having sold out-of never searching-of it never having even been an option
They should be celebrating their children's relationships, they should be rooting for their happiness, they should be ambassadors of the institution that claims it stands for love and mutual support but looks like systemic social content and tax breaks
like quiet houses when the kids have left, like jokes about husbands installing Blue Whale in their wives' phone…
I bought jalebis from a mithai store today, a mithai store - not a roadside cart - because my mother feels it is safer this way.
For six months after we came to India my mother boiled Aquaguard water so it would be safe enough for us to drink. For all of my life in Aurangabad - more than 12 years if we're counting my college vacations - my mother made pani puri at home from scratch so we wouldn't contract water-borne diseases.
For all our years in India since my parents returned from dad's chemo my mother would wake us 25 minutes too early, even when sleep was more precious to her than it was to us, even though the school bus for 8:45 AM class came to our stop at 7:20 - which is no time to even be awake if you ask my sister - to feed us "real" breakfast in addition to an unnecessarily tall glass of milk before school,
everyday, so she could give us enough fuel to last until recess and sustain our growing bodies through puberty.