You Made Me Lose Sight Of Me

Ravi Roshan
Ravi Roshan

Do you remember the tiny battles we fought across our kitchen, within the daffodil-colored room? You loved those bright walls, the ones that held so much promise. The ones that proved too weak for our shouts, our shudders and our slow goodbye.

Today, I found out that the scientific name for daffodils is ‘narcissus.’ I couldn’t help but laugh.

I’ve never liked the color yellow. The funny thing is, now that I’m gone, I find myself surrounded by it. A wax candle above my bed. A blanket my mother loaned me. Two notebooks I picked out of a rainbow bright stack. My hair has never been this blonde.

It’s like I can’t shake you. I can’t shake the sun.

You’re gone now, aren’t you? Weren’t you always? Were you ever really mine? But was I ever mine either? Maybe we were always both yours. But then again, maybe you were mine too. Maybe I never knew it. Maybe I couldn’t understand. That’s the deep rooted dissonance of it all, isn’t it? Who belonged to whom? Should we not have first belonged to ourselves?

You thought I was the mouse, but I’m really the one always looking for the not.

I’m Alice dropping quickly down the rabbit hole. Except my rabbit hole is Seattle and where the hell is Wonderland. I’ve left the mystic and dropped into the material. It’s boring here without you. I can feel the grey overcast filling my eyes. I keep looking at our pictures. I have to wear my glasses every day now. I’m hiding behind masks—independence, ideals and incoherence.

And then the morning came and apparently the world had nothing better to do.

The man heard my body hit the ground from outside the swinging door, but the word “ladies” scared him shitless. He couldn’t cross the threshold; it was just too much for one night of fine dining. He waited, he whispered, he asked a woman for help. The door swung open and he yelped as a blonde girl lay not quite spread eagle, more like a crumpled napkin, on the bathroom floor. Her eyes rolled back into her head, her neck craned to look him in the eyes. The blackness cleared. The muscles relaxed.

“I’m alright.”

But am I alright? Maybe not now. But I suppose I will be. They say it takes time, but I feel like in this world of ever ticking clocks, the digital seconds only fly away faster than the instant gratification we all so desire. I’m alright. I’m alight. I’m alright.

Are you alright?

I heard you cry on the phone yesterday and it made my insides feel like the Arctic, once permanently frozen, now quickly losing its protective cool.

I was so mad at you. So lost in my own pain. I lost sight of you. Of me. Of how this all started in the beginning.

It’s estimated that the human body is made up of 75% water. What happens when all of that melts?

Today you told me you’re coming home, but that just can’t be.

I’m still falling. Still building my own sun, retreating, still sinking into my own sea. You’re coming home. You’re coming back. You weren’t supposed to do that.

Do you remember the tiny battles we fought across our kitchen? TC mark

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