Cry. Cry till your eyes ache and you begin to believe there is nothing left inside, to pour out anymore. You begin to feel the urgent panic and chaos in swelling up inside your chest, beneath your ribs, hurting you where it hurts you the most, and you let go of all shame and the stiff cage your face has become, and break down inside, piece by piece, crumbling, falling helplessly all around you; and you cry.
In your trembling there is the sweet innocence a broken truth, the taste of blood by tongues bitten; one’s own and of the one who you shared kisses with, eyes closed in a sweet prayer every time. Now that prayer has turned to ruins, shards and splinters, lying wasted and erect in mourning, of the night that has so befallen you, the light of day seems to turn into dust & ashes as you breathe and stare into the blurry sky.
And you remember the quiet gaze, you shared under moonlit night, eyes gleaming from within like far away stars, like the dreams you halved, twinkling in the distance. You move inside, from corner to corner, trying to dodge the falling debris of all your hope and watch it collapse before you, upon you, as you close your eyes, letting escape your one forlorn feeling; a tear.
You brace the windowpane, and stare outside into the street, because your whole room hurts, and you choke on the happiness you once had, and it cuts down through your throat, down to your heart, nestling inside, like a child in a womb. And you nurse it; nurse it with all you’ve got, till you reach out so far, that your arms begin to hurt and you beg for a comforting embrace, a warm melancholy grave of pleasant stillness and quiet gentleness, like a mother’s loving clasp of tenderness.
Days and weeks pass by as you become more immersed within yourself and all the hurt you are keeping warm, in the little iron chamber of your heart. Isolation and loneliness become our best friends and we find solace in spending time with the quieter things in life. Every conversation seems distant, the touch of a known loved one seems at best strange and misplaced, yet we yearn for more, and have the same things to say to everyone.
We pretend to be enveloped by a sudden, make believe sense of strength. On the inside, we know we are fragile; like glass, everyone can see through us but we keep the disguise on, walking amongst the crowds, hoping to blend in and disappear. Exposed and vulnerable we lie on couches, mattresses and park benches with nothing to hide, and no one to be ashamed of. Not much of a choice there. The shell is broken and our brittle selves must make their way out into the open, in truth and surrender.
And then we begin to wrap our frail, weakened arms around ourselves, slowly not quite understanding why we are doing this; this sudden urge to embrace ourselves, to know what infinity feels like in a moment. Holding ourselves in place, against this gust of wind-like memories, we try to walk again, strait jacketed in the shackles of pain.
We cry in such childlike innocence, the purity of every glistening tear, like a sweet prayer; our oneness held inside till the hurt sinks in so deep, that reaching out becomes our only escape. At that moment in time, when we know everything about ourselves completely, every secret we face, and every lie we ever lied to ourselves, we break.
Reborn in the chasm of our new forbearer of Change, we nestle deep within ourselves like a child in a womb, resting in hope, as if sunk in a mother’s loving clasp of tenderness. Our fragility plays truant making us vulnerable in inner nakedness, and open to only more love, if we try, in truth and surrender. And we know, even though these arms are frail, this embrace is everything that defines us. It is our only fortress of flesh and heart, which holds us, planted firmly in the ground, immovable. Every storm may come and pass, trying to weather our fortress down. But we know, new tears and blood shall forge our bricks of character.
And then I embrace my pain, because I know it is everything that makes me beautiful.
Siddharth Pathak | 8th April 2013