Crushed a flower with a footstep

(Photograph by Abhay Tiwari)

Please, talk to me about who you were before the walls were painted blue;
Tell me the bruises, the aches, and time just added another layer of misery to hide it,
Tell me you remember it all and the name plates on that empty street that was once filled with your giggles and your hand on his shoulder.

Please, talk to me about how you lost yourself without knowing the meaning to lose,
Like somebody stole your red mountain bike, and returned with punctured tiers and a helmet for safety in future.
Like all the graffiti from your favorite wall are now spray painted black and there’s a fading color behind it, so you’re rubbing your wrists against the wall, painting them red.

Please, talk to me about all the names you ever wrote in your address book, their birthdays marked on your calendar, their phone numbers jotted in a hurry, but now they’re blurry.
Tell me that you missed their birthdays, but you stayed awake till 12 in the morning and whispered a ‘happy birthday’ to the stars as if they’d shine brighter for them, for you.

Please, talk to me about the only hideout place you every built for two, crashed down by a storm one night, and next day when you returned home, you saw the torn pieces of your memories on the floor, and you walked over. And a flood washed them all away. Tell me that you don’t walk with a brave face anymore,

You walk with a cold face that has got nothing for anybody, that the chemicals in your stomach don’t ache anymore,
That the lights flashing in your eyes don’t stop you from going blind, that you are a little less of what it felt to be you that you don’t stop by the flower shop to smell them anymore, tell me that the cold your soul caught could never be recovered.

And piece by piece it took you in.

Please, talk to me that you had dreams once when there was a red moon in the sky and you spent the whole night watching it from a toy telescope with your best friend,
Tell me that your heart knew the constellations and once you made a wish to a shooting star.
Tell me that you’re the coffin you told everybody not to be.
Tell me that the monster sleeping on your stomach tonight made a pact to never leave the other side of your bed empty
Tell me that you held him like your only friend, like your only savior while he gently carved his name on your back with his claws.

Please, talk to me if that’s the last thing you can do, talk to me and I will listen, talk to me so I’d know you’re breathing, talk to me so I’d know your brain can still make connections, talk to me even if tonight’s the last night of us talking.
Talk to me like the mother who lost her child and the world for her has no purpose anymore.
Talk to me like you’ve lost every meaning you knew of life that was supposed to be, that you were taught of.
Talk to me and I’ll tell you that angels and demons are resting on your shoulders; I’ll tell you that you’re the reason sun rises in my country today. I’ll tell you if my happy color is blue, then my misery would never cast on your walls.
I’ll tell you that I’ve been you for a long time and it’s time to wake up.

-Neha Goyal


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