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The Boys I’d Cheat on You With.

I’d cheat on you with the boy that’s the messy eater. He makes me forget what a mess I am when all I want to do is clean up after him.

The boy with 9 or 10 scars that each have a story to tell. Especially the one on his left thigh which reminds him of me because I was there when he got it.

The boy who makes me forget which side of the bed is mine because any side next to him becomes my side.

The boy who still blushes after 3 years of being with me because my words make him feel invincible

The boy who eats breakfast for dinner with me because it’s all I can cook and he insists every meal is the best I’ll ever make.

The boy who plays in my hair as he stares at me for hours saying nothing but managing to say so much.

The boy who recites my poetry like he is reading verses from the Bible

But then I remember, all these boys are you. I resign myself to the fact that maybe I’ll cheat on all the others with these memories of you.


Of Innate Desires.

Affinity, noun: “a
spontaneous or natural liking or sympathy for someone or something.”

think of lovers in two dimensions. The people who walk into your life and
everything feels new. It is as if they are from a foreign land and are here to
teach you a new language. I know nothing of these people. The ones I know of
are the people you kiss for the first time and it feels familiar. The way they
know to touch your nape and trace their finger tips from there to the beginning
of your clavicle and then to your shoulder. The way they know your Achilles
heel before you blog about it. The way they know you are your father’s
favourite from the way you say hello when he calls. Or from the way they know
with the first hello that they will bring you pain one day.

as human beings, are drawn to the familiar and therein lies the problem.
1. Because familiar is tied with a longing for forever. What you don’t
understand is familiar is also temporary. A paradox of sort, it is temporary
because familiar won’t make her stay. But once you taste familiar the memories
are tied to your existence forever. The way you will always remember your
mother’s cooking years after she is gone.

Because in this dimension, time is not linear. “When” he walks into your life
is not important. Whether you’re 20 or 25, it will always feel the same. If he
can walk in for the first time and heartbeats skip in tandem with his stride
then he can leave and drift in whenever he so desires. It will always feel the
same. The hand, now filled with experiences garnered away from you, will still
feel the same.

Everything about this kind of love is disastrous. The optimist in me sees its merit as
love and the cynic sees the makings of disaster.


Lucid Dreaming.

“The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to
the ground. But in the love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed
down by the man’s body.” –
Be wary of
the things you crave at this hour. You’ll find yourself missing the bad kissers
and even the fraudsters. The gaping silence invokes a form of nostalgia you
can’t trust. Nostalgia written in braille. You stumble through the darkness
feeling for old memories. Anything looks good in this lighting. The way he
didn’t kiss you the first time you were alone and at the end of the night he
kissed you on your cheek right in front of your friends. “Chivalry is not
dead,” you claimed to yourself. But who says chivalry makes you the only one. When
he finally kissed you, it was 2am on a Friday. You had an inner monologue
condemning him to the rank of “worst kisser” yet you went on. Either he got
better or you fell in love. Either way you were screwed.
This is the
hour of clarity. You either wake up to a declaration of love or the deafening
realization that you are over him (or vice versa.) Neither shatters your world.
Forceful kisses and clumsy hands are exactly that at this hour. You can’t wait
to tell your friends how wrong you were. At this hour, whoever existed at 2am
no longer exists. Your regret has a shelf life of 5 hours, so you think. The
clarity is the illusion. You are still who you were 5 hours ago. You are what
you crave.

I make it a
point to sleep through both. They each represent an abyss I no longer have the
strength to battle. Some days this is true, but often it is not. Most days it
isn’t about the man. It is about the echoes of who I once was. Maybe if I
kissed him again, I would remember what it was like to be spontaneous, reckless
in love in the darkest nights. Maybe I would remember what it was like to feel
certain in the brightest days.

At the Palace of Hearts.

you hurts more than I care to admit.” – X

We have our little routine, you and I. I leave
unceremoniously, and I return months later. The former comes with no warning,
at least to you. For me, it is the heaviness in my hellos and the lump in my
throat when I say your name leading up to this moment. “I can’t take this
anymore.” “THIS”: the perpetual
reminder that I am not yours. What is this soul consuming need to belong to
another? But most importantly, how can I cleanse myself of it? Amidst these
questions, I sneak out the back door and leave a note promising to return.

And I do return. Our emotions exist in two

1.   When I am
next to you, our skin virtually stuck together, we have the heavy silence. Words
ruin everything for us so we feed off the life of kisses and suggestive

 2.    When I am
away from you, I am haunted by these memories, and all we have are text
messages and emails.

In the first realm, pure absolution exists. Every
time I return, I want to return through this realm. But this is reality. When I
return, I hide behind the casual text message that always ends sour. Hurried replies
and reckless abandon of feelings, this realm is purely selfish. But somehow
tenacity wins the day and we find a way back to each other.

But as I said before, “we have our little routine.” Be it vengeance, or self preservation,
I can’t tell. The roles are reversed and you take flight. You have the common
decency to give notice of your intentions. Everything feels final and I reluctantly
accept. If only common decency applied to your return. You return through the
second realm as I did. Of course you are my equal when it comes to words and
tenacity so I come undone. Declarations of misplaced affection, “you don’t love
her”, “I don’t love him.” The paradox here is that a lie and a truth coexist. I
am yours, and not yours. We talk of obligations and yet this conversation
negates all loyalties.

This time it is short lived. The cycle is broken.
I come undone by the silence. All I want to know is how you make it look so

“Watch out for love (unless it is
true, and every part of you says yes including the toes), it will wrap you up
like a mummy, and your scream won’t be heard and none of your running will end.” 
– Anne Sexton


“And so it is that in the moment
you pledge your highest love, you greet your greatest fear.”

It’s 2am and he’s back in my life. At this point I’m
tired of him featuring in my blog but rarely in my life. So I ask the question I’ve
been dreading, “What are we?” What I really want to ask is “Who is she?” But we
were always gray and asking that is picking between black and white when it’s
pretty clear we are black, black, black.

Fast forward to a year later and I don’t even
remember his lips on mine. I mean no disrespect to all the “hers” in his life. But
right now I am one “her” to one “him.” And I am mesmerised by the thought of
being someone’s. After craving to belong, I finally do. And for the first time I
was too busy falling in love to pick up my pen.

So this is me, thanking all aspects of my past for
featuring in my life. I am grateful for their inability to commit, because now I
take time to say yes. I am grateful for the pendulum like emotions because they
were really a reflection of my own. And for the broken promises and hateful
exchange of words, I apologise for I am equally
to blame. I was never for you and you were never for me… “Amor Fati” I
experienced too many could-have-beens and they all prepared my heart for this

thousand half
loves must be forsaken to
take one whole heart home.” -Rumi

The best part about him is that he wasn’t perfect over night. We cried and we hurt till we built something that never truly breaks. We rebuild and we grow and at 9am every morning, he calls to say hello. I keep telling myself, “be this for a day, be this for a life time, every single moment is ingrained on mind, body and soul. And now love is: not wanting to sleep because your shirt still smells like him. It’s risking a cold to get a kiss to get you through your day. But best of all, it is knowing that brown eyes will never be the same. Brown eyes will always be you.

“It is as if he is the perfect male counterpart to my own self: each of us giving the other an extension of the life we believe in living.” – Sylvia Plath