I burnt my tears on the wooden floor.
I need some pain. I need to let ‘it’ out. I can’t specify what ‘it’ is. But ‘it’ urges me to let it out. Some burn from cigarette. Some cut from razor blade. Some choke from the curtain strip. Or a whip from my beloved which will forever be a fantasy.
I’m too old for such self harm, no matter how bad i crave for it.
I feeling like painting. So i could paint my blood spilling all over the floor. I could paint layers of beige tape wrapping around my face. I could paint the grief that i can’t verbalize.
It’s been almost a year. The day will come, when we have to gather, when i have to come back, to witness all the pain that’s been held back for those last days. I know she will cry. But I know i will not only cry my tears, but her tears too. She suffers once. I suffer twice,just from seeing it.
I stared at the smoke curling up in the air. He smoked a lot. I want some pain, from needles carving his picture on my body. Which picture of him will I put on my skin?
The valley of memories turned dark and cloudy. It’s been haunting me ever since. Every single day. How can I ever forget his dead bony face through the glass of the coffin in that embroidered white silk. His eyes couldn’t close…
When J was shivering all night during a bad fever, I was paralyzed to realize that reminds me of the night he was constantly shaking and choking for an hour and I was helpless knowing that it had come, the very last days of him. After that night, he was sent to hospital. I never forget how I felt on the ambulance bringing him back to our house. I was alone on that ambulance holding his hand saying in my mind ‘I am here’. He was weak. He lasted another 6 days at home. 6 days instantly gasping. I would never leave his bed for more than half an hour to put on another oxygen mask every time he started to suffocate hoping to soothe him. He was in so much pain. The very last time i did that, his skin turned pale, it was the last breath. At 11.30pm.