All that was lost

Currently, I have a passive-aggressive relationship with Time. Whenever I think I’m going to catch up, it sneaks into a rabbit hole where I cannot go. So while I grapple with my ineffective time-management, I reminisce on the year that has been all while wishing for a red, apple-shaped alarm clock. Alas, Santa Claus has gone. Arrangements must be made by self. Like everyone who does, when the year comes to a close, I sit and wonder where Time went. And when I step away from the lens I feel that amidst the niceties of posting happy pictures and documenting gratitude I have to make a note of all that was lost. And in my small corner of this large Web, I sit here and mention how the love is no more. Perhaps it is, but only disguised as pain or a dried wound. I know many people who lost relationships that they wished had worked out. Not to aggrandize them as tragedies, but not to belittle them as ‘passing affairs’, I believe all love deserves a mention. Yes, we’ve all seen a barrage of wedding pictures that made the rounds, and we’re happy for them. What about those who nurse broken hearts? Who will share their pain? Relationships ended for many and with their hearts they broke mine a little too. I was a believer in love, you see. I am. But I’m not so sure. My foe Time is winning this round. Therefore, beneath all the merry, all the silver dust, the felicitous songs and the overt display of joy, here is a small note to wish that love would have lasted. Their stories were not these. Their stories were vastly different and wholly beautiful while they lasted. It’s the essence of pain that is the same.

You’re not around anymore
nor is the hazelnut syrup you loved so much.
To be honest, I didn’t like it
but I loved how it smelled on your lips
and how the golden colour of it
reflected off your hands
when you made yourself coffee
while sitting on the kitchen table.

And I don’t even see your hair
lying on the bathroom floor;
how I hated it when you left the place in a mess
and how we once had a row about
the colour of towels to buy.
Now I wish I had agreed to the red,
at least a part of you would’ve stayed back.

Remember the DVDs you used to stack
and asked me to clear out my bookshelf?
I did it, not because I love my books less,
but because I loved your smile more.
Every time you walked in late
wanting to watch a Jim Carey movie
and eat fried chicken on the bed,
I wished I could make you laugh as much,
and I think I did,
but not enough.

Maybe that’s why you left.
Or maybe you left because
I became too much for you
or too little.

Maybe you didn’t like my mother,
or my dogs which left behind as much hair
or maybe your dreams changed while I wasn’t looking.
Or maybe it was religion.
Damned religion.
Was it my rosary you didn’t like
or the way I looked while I prayed?
Or was I not strong enough to carry your
idiosyncrasies to the grave?

I stand here wondering who will answer
my questions,
for even God seems a distant friend now
and I know I can’t ask you.

You’re elsewhere.
In a place I cannot reach.
In a time I cannot be.
In a world that isn’t us.
And here I am, not even daring to hope we’d be together
because the dichotomy of it all
sears into my soul.
Although I wish you were here,
but I know that isn’t what was told.