Concealed Courage

Maybe he was told that it was okay. For the world was so much bigger than the amount of toys that his six years old hand could hold. Mayhe, at 15, his father contemplated that his son wouldn’t come to waste his life like his brother. His mother must have held his hand on the morning of his 18th birthday and convinced him that he had everything that was needed to complete a boy growing into a man, and he had his whole life mapped right infront of him.

And they only asked him to have courage. Maybe the courage to be a man who would look into the mirror and no longer remember the boy he used to be. Maybe the courage to hold the future that was ripped off from his dreams. The courage to love without emotions or the courage to just make it through every day without falling apart.

But then, I guess it also required him a great deal of courage to hide that razor in his sleeves, and slit open his left wrist on that Monday night of April. He must have closed his eyes and put his arms around his body. He must have had cradled himself to sleep on the cold sheets soaking in his own blood, the very blood that felt as though it spilled off a stranger’s flesh. He must have been so courageous, and he never came to know about it.

Stale coffee in broken mugs

I know, I shouldn’t.

But I will still say that, I still taste you in my morning coffee and feel your kisses in the midsummer’s dreams. I will still say that, your presence never left my skin and this lips never forgot the taste you left in my tongue; bitter but still so sweet in the end. Because darling, you were an art. So strong and so beautiful, that made the canvas irrelevant of the colours it showed under the sun.

But you were an incomplete art that broke the painter’s heart. And sadly washed away the euphoria of rainbows nestled upon then brush.

You were the art.

To whom I have my soul but could never complete.

And then. I forgot what the dab of blue ink even resembled in the coarse white sheet. I forgot what the artist left in the canvas and what the thief took from the wooden easel.

But I will still say that, I miss you. And ask you to stay, even if you are a billion skies away or a thousand raindrops farther from the sun.