Why am I awake at 3am asking myself this series of ‘why’s?
Why is the room so small (without you), the lights so bright, my white dress still stained, why is the sound of passing cars, things just passing, the thought that nothing lasts the only thing that eases, that soothes, that smoothens this uneasy sense of wonder?
Why are we not interlacing fingers tonight, why are we not sharing stories if we both want to? Why is the story I have made out of us so close to science fiction? Why are you still the protagonist in mine when I attempted so many times to downgrade you, when I insisted too many times before that the story goes on without you?
Why does my brain knock my heart down so hard sometimes? Why does it still demand that I shut the doors, that I lock you out when there’s thunderstorm inside? Why do I still let you in when I know I am still burning inside, when I know we are better off brushing the tears off, kissing instead, holding each other’s skin, finding beauty, skipping away, running away, running away together.
If fire burns and passion scars, then why do I still indulge in everything that’s dangerous for me when you are around? These long talks, these long walks, these mesmerising silences, when we are together why do I l still like these long walks when everyone talks, talks about the fastest ways to make it to town? When we were walking once, I wondered why is google maps always so quick to calculate distances, to minimise the walking distance? I thought I should ask you once why do we measure distance in time when it should really be measured in terms of the vastness of absence?
Why am I already wide awake at 6am when I slept so late last night? Why were you still in my dream if I am so done being your friend, if I am so done being your lover, if my heart doesn’t jump when I see your face pop up again and again on my phone? Why did I miss you so much when I was sure I did not need you, when I was sure my body, my soul, my body could be put to rest without meeting yours? Why do I sleep so much better after all when I am done caressing every inch of your skin, every cell of your body?
Why do we fall so hard sometimes in ways that we could not even dream of?
Why do we fall so hard sometimes,
ten flights of stairs at once,
heart pounding,
poems flooding our lips all at once,
this influx of emotions deforming themselves
into this series of ‘why’s?
******
I know you too have been asking yourself ‘why’.
Why this series of ‘why’s, Pandora’s box of doubts,
emotions deforming themselves into this senseless sense of fear.
Maybe we grow to distrust whatever’s too beautiful
to call our own, maybe we grow to question
what we cannot explain. Maybe we learn to hold loosely
what we don’t understand yet we
passionately
want to hold onto.
Maybe we hold onto memories (the good and the ugly)
with the same intensity
that we fear losing the ones we hold onto.
Maybe we can’t stop the questions like we can’t stop
the hurt, but what if I told you
that often enough (and only with you),
what if I told you that sometimes
when I am with you
I forget to ask those ‘why’s,
what if I told you
that it doesn’t really matter
why.
Rational Artist 