Of the words unspoken

I want to tell you I want you here with me

But that's selfish.

I want you to rub my feet and hand me water

But that's selfish.

I want you to tell me you love me

I want to feel you reach out for my hands

Only for me to pull away.

Why do I pull away?

Instinct. That's all I can say.

I want to scream and yell at you

I want to sit and nag at you

I want to tell you the gazillion things you can do differently.

I want to yank your arm and bite down

And feel your skin against mine

It's cold here without you.

It always is.

I want to rub your neck

And nuzzle my face into your chest

Grasp at your chest

Dig my toes into your calves.

I hate being away from you

I hate hating being away from you.

Tempatku bukan disini

Dengarkan suaraku yang beralun pilu

Rasakan pedihnya merayu rindu

Aku inginkan dakapanmu mesra

Aku inginkan dakapanmu manja

Tangisku kering sendirian saja

Tiada kugapai, tiada ku pangku siapa

Dudukku membelai angin yang lalu

Bersimpuh dilantai menghembus sayu

Terkenang sewaktu ku hidup sendiri

Lalu ku sedar ia masih begini

Ku buka mata tapi kau tiada

Ku tutup mata pun kau menjauh saja

Dengarkan jeritanku tak bersuara

Rasakan sakitku dihiris tak berdarah

Aku inginkan mataku dikucup

Bukan lagi amarahku yang lagi kau tutup

Jerihku mati tidak berkubur

Tiada ku lepas, tiada ku hembus

Dudukku merintih mengadu padaNya

Bersimpuh ku tadahkan pada Yang Maha Esa

Terkenang ku dosa tidak berpenghujung

Lalu ku tunduk terkedu malu

Ku buka mata dan tahu Dia ada

Ku takut di pejam ditarik Dia

25

I had just been on a whirlwind adventure.

Jumped for joy and sung in glee

Fell in love and forgotten it

Eaten in pain and enjoyed it

Laughed and smiled

Danced and lived.

Oh, how I lived.

Maybe times have changed since

Maybe I have too

Maybe I am just ungrateful

Maybe I have forsaken or been forsaken

Tossed and thrown overboard

Picked up and trampled on

Bitten and chewed and spat out

They came and they took my paint brush first,

So I painted with crayons

Ridiculous it seemed, but somehow it made sense.

I melted the crayons by candles, and used my breath and fingers.

It worked, sort of

But even that they came and took away

So I sat with my pens but only black and blue I had

So be it

Let them shine through

But it's hard to shine

When you're black and blue

Again they came and snatched away

The pens I used to draw.

I scribbled about and found myself a pencil stub

Away I scratched and soon the stub was gone

What was bright and vibrant became dull and now gray.

To make things more they even shut the window from which brought light.

So in the dark I try to draw in my mind

But I guess it's been too many years

For I can no longer see within.

But none are heard

It's dark in here. I flick the flashlight and nothing happens. The battery died a while back. Maybe if I imagine the light, it will be better. I hear her coming. I shut my eyes and hope she's just passing. I grip the flashlight tight, even though it I longer gives off any light. What else do I have? It's dark in here. She's close. I hear her low breath and soft steps. Maybe if I pretend to be asleep she'll go away. I close my eyes. Lax my grip on the flashlight so it seems I am really asleep. I can see colours behind my eyelids. It feels a little less cold. The warmth of colour. Does that make sense? 2x2=4. Yes, I still have my math right, so it must make sense. She's close enough I can feel the edges of her hair brush my arm. The colours. Where are they? It's dark in here. I hold back my tears.

"I'm here, darling. Wake up." She hisses.

Please, no...

Her eyes flash red and her voice hardens.

"Wake up" she spits.

Against my will I open my eyes. It's so dark but I can see her luminous silhouette. I can still feel the edges of her hair, this time on my neck.

My flashlight. It's gone.

She cackles in the dark and goes off.

It's so dark in here.

Someone?

Anyone?

Please....

It's dark in here.

Brushes and brooms

Pick up the broom and start sweeping. Lift every pillow, random piece of paper, and put it back in place. Change the sheets. Fill the tub. Cook. Look at the grocery list. Plan to go shopping. Cuddles.

"How much longer, mom?"

"Not long, sweety.."

"I love you, mom"

"I love you too, dear"

For tomorrow is just another day

"Dr. Kübler-Ross refined her model to include seven stages of loss. The 7 stages of grief model is a more in-depth analysis of the components of the grief process. These seven stages include shock, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, testing, and acceptance"

Shock is the time when she held it in her hands and shook as she confronted him. Shock is her response in telling him to leave. Shock is the despair at the sudden quiet after he left. Shock made her pick up the phone and call him. She needed to understand. She needed to let it set that this was real. Not some poorly designed prank. It was real. It was real. As real as the child she held in her arms that night. Alone. Shock kept her up that night. Shock drove her to her listless phonebook. Shock made her let him back in.
**********************************************************
Shock is the realization that it had come undone. She knew. It was out. But she didn't know all of it. He didn't know how much she knew. He begged her to end what angered her. Shock muted his voice. Shock lifted his hands to pack his belongings. Shock brought him out of the house. Shock made him seek companionship. Shock made him stay close. Where else would he go? What did he want? Who did he want? Shock kept that answer at bay from him. Shock made his responses later that night to her curt, and unfeeling. Shock pushed him to sleep and into deep slumber.





Denial is the time they pretended to work things through. Denial brought them to celebrate their time together with their child. Denial was holding hands and sitting in that hall whilst he (halfway) confessed his sins. Denial rendered her mute. Denial made her ask more questions. She knew the answers would give her clarity. And clarity she needed greatly so her decisions were not to be in haste. Clarity she longed for. Clarity would lead her to acceptance. That much she knew. So she pushed through. Question after question she posed, digesting all of it one by one. Often she stopped, seeking clarity. Often she prayed, seeking wisdom and patience whilst she gained clarity. Clarity will bring her to acceptance. That much, she knew.
**************************************************************
Denial is him saying he had confessed and that he deserved her forgiveness. He had, after all, ended all of it. No more, he had said. Denial. No more, he said. Again, he denies. But you cannot close what has not been opened, can you? You can't bury what is still hidden. Yes, you can, he says. Says denial. Denial telling her she had misunderstood all this while. It was nothing. It was meaningless. It was done. Denial made him ask why she had chosen him. Denial allowed him to let her plan out their future. Denial told him it was ok. Denial told him that what is not known will not hurt and will ultimately be forgotten. Denial made him snap at her for bringing up his indiscretion. Denial assured her that he has confessed all. Denial said they were going to work things out. Denial said there was hope for a future together. Denial said "I love you".





Anger was her yelling. Anger was her bringing up years of unhappiness. Anger was screaming foul words, hurling herself to the floor and wailing to the skies. Anger was her telling him off. Thinking of the whole ordeal made her feel anger. Pain. Anger caused pain. And all she felt was either anger or numbness. Anger was silence. Anger was telling him he wasn't doing enough. Anger was the hitting and screaming. When the pain inside was so overwhelming that all she could do was scream. So she did. With all her might.
*************************************************************
Anger was him sitting in silence. Anger was him holding in what he wanted to say, but didn't. Anger was him telling her that he was willing to leave. Anger was him telling her there was no path for them. Anger was him saying that life with her was no longer possible. Anger was shaking and shivering and stuttering out words he later regretted.


Bargaining was them sitting together writing notes and diagrams and lists. Bargaining was them considering what days of future past could possibly hold. They held hands. The made love. They talked about happy days ahead, and also of lonely ones. They talked about supporting one another, they laughed together, ate together, slept together. Bargaining was the whole list of "what if"s and "maybe"s. It was planning for the multiverse of variances unknown. It was searching hither and tither for help. It was barreling high and low finding answers. They both knew the outcome. But they were afraid to say it out loud. It was imminent. It was the only way. They both knew. Maybe it's a little bit of leftover denial peeking in. But they stood united. Thinking they would stay united. But in their hearts, as the park be their witness, they knew.



Depression was her seeing all the horrible deeds in her every step. There wasn't a pot or pan she couldn't connect to the pain. There wasn't a grain of sand that tickled her toes that didn't bring her back to that fated evening when her world collapsed. There wasn't a whiff of his scent that didn't take her to the memories of his better days without her. 
But for him, it was much earlier. He had abandoned her long ago. He had sought out new adventures and conquered new lands long ago. He had tried to call for help, but the help he sought only sunk him out further.


So now, what's left?
testing, and acceptance.

When home is gone (2)

That stairway? It only goes one way. You can choose to go down, but God knows what’s waiting in the darkness. Maybe staying on this rickety platform will be fine. You have no supplies, but maybe the energy from the universe will suffice. Who are you kidding? No one becomes a hero by waiting on a rickety platform. That’s the damsel in distress. Is that what you are?

Write your own story. Stand up, look around. You are not forsaken. Look down, close your eyes. Can you hear anything? Can you smell anything? Pish posh! You sit back down and helplessly make yourself comfortable on the rickety platform again.

Just one more day, you say as you close your eyes. Just one more day.