For the first time, love has silenced me.
Silenced the crevices that craved.
That spake.
That created.
Wonder what I'm made of?
Hollows and temperate pleasures.
Lost in the mundane curiosities of the lesser worlds.
Breakfasts in bed and lunches at work,
Window shopping rings on the walk home,
Sought nothing to feel nothing.
Tired feet, tired will,
Closer to the distances of the past,
To the romantic dark,
To the unfound obscurity.
But in the distant echoes,
the silence beckons to me;
To love in the ways I've learnt to hide.

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I can't even say he loved me for my body. I didn't exist in his world. Does that make me a means to his desires? I don't think so. I don't think he knew I was there. He's a silent man, I'd think to myself. A mark of dignity maybe? Sometimes he'd take me on drives around the city. We never went across. I was made privy to only his silence, louder than my thoughts, louder than the city. The love language I thought I had to learn to love. He'd take me to bed after. He'd lead the way, hold the door. He'd walk to the room and sit across from the bed. His love language. I'd walk before and kneel. I knew. He'd take a shower and go to sleep later. I'd stay there; my legs asleep on the floor. I'd drag my body to the bathroom. His scent envelopes me. It's not embracing. It brushes against my skin and escapes out. I shut the door to capture him but he leaves. His love language. I'd clean myself and lie beside him. He's fast asleep, content and peaceful. I'll wake up to find him gone. A note: "Had to leave early". A statement of fact. No future promises. No false hopes. No coming backs. His love language. 

-

They all said 'yes'.
The job I always dreamt about.
The person I sincerely loved.
The people who always supported me.

But I was still longing for the 'yes' that I never told myself.

-

Oh, to be loved by you.
Sans butterflies and flowery kisses
A day like any other
The kind of love that gets you by.
A love that is a need
For arms and legs
For a full stomach
For sanity
A love that is full and heartless
Cared for and responsible
You and me
Me and you
And it still doesn't make us.
But what is this love? So empty and bland?
Isn't all love a poet's muse?
Oh, to be loved by you
Coming home to a soulless solace.

-

I felt the huge scar below my knee. It happened as a result of a very abusive relationship. I remember how much you hated it. You'd say it's painful to look at. You would trace around it with your finger after our love-making nights. You'd sigh as I flinched from the hidden pain in that wound. You would desperately try to cure it with your affections, maybe love, maybe pity. You would then cup your hands on my cheeks reassuring safety. The scar burns in my heart every minute of the day and you suffocate me in your arms apologizing for faults that weren't even yours. "I wish you hadn't met him. I wish you were mine all along", you would say.
I'd smile and kiss your forehead while a million scars would ignite within me and you'd hold me for hours. Then you would push me down the bed and cry out in rage, devouring me, taking pleasure in my bloody lips, cracked bones and black eye. "You're mine only"
I'd nod and wait for you to carry me back to bed and we'd repeat it all over again. Now, the scars just stay numb and have me wondering what it would be like if I had loved myself more than you. If I had not hated myself to let you tear me apart. If I had not liked the abuse.

-

The worst or maybe even the best part of loving them was all the conflicts. I was always at my toes running away or towards things that were too exciting. Most times, I’d reach very close and something in me would put a halt to my feet. My heart would shut down, my mind would scream and my body would lose its sense of life. Then I’d walk back dejected, disappointed in myself. I'd stay in my shell, waiting to run back, waiting to garner some courage to face them, face myself. In this back and forth, I trap my love until my heart exhausts itself and I have nowhere to be, no one to love, not even myself.

-

You did not sweep me off my feet because you loved me.
You did it to tame me.
To conquer me.
To render me to have no standing.
So, I'd follow you around like a lost puppy.
By a cord that fastens my neck everyday.
Through painted words that weaken my spine.
Through a love that rests everywhere but your heart.

-

The thing about loving myself is, I don't know how much love I'm worth. You could say, put everything there is to it. Love yourself unconditionally?
But there are conditions to how many flaws I can accept. How many wrongs I can forfeit. I become someone new at the blink of an eye and I don't know what the dead skins of the past was worth. Did I love her like I do now?
As I ponder, I look at my skin rotting, falling apart while I give up some more and enlighten. How much love do you give someone you didn't know until today?

-

To all those that want me or need me:
You don't know the difference.
You want me to need you.
You need me to want you.
But I don't.
I am complete.
I love too much
But that's not your problem.
It's only a tragedy.
For me.
And love.
I need love. I need to love.
Not you.

-

Maybe, it is the scars and the pain that you want to embrace and love away. Maybe, you just like pain and broken people. Maybe, love for you was moulding me into everything you love. 
Mending and stitching.
Painting over scars. 
Red lipstick and Combed hair.
You doll me up and gently put me behind a glass wall, whisper some flowery words and plant some kisses on my immobility. Then, you leave in search for something new. Something ruined. Something you've always wanted while we rest in these glass chambers unable to hold each other's hands, too tired to breathe, thinking we're happy and deserve nothing better. A bunch of red lipsticks and tight dresses with no sensibilities, no mouth, no life to at least roll our eyes for our dignity.
It's a relief that we're everything you've always wanted.

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