Weather the storm
Art by Jakub Kujawa
They say you’ve got to weather the storm
to enjoy the pleasant days
but it’s 2 AM and there’s a storm in my head;
raindrops hammering my window,
as tears fall to the floor.
I don’t know who you are anymore.
I think about all those nights ago
raindrops falling on my roof as
we discussed the meaning of life.
You told me it means nothing.
I gave you a look.
“You make it feel like something,” you say quietly.
That was the beginning of the ending.
Streams of emotions pouring out.
“But it’s better left unsaid” you mumble
“Why?”
“I have this wall around me. It’s a dam;
It’s not a floodgate you want to open. Not now”
I’ll hold you to your word, I tell myself.
And now there’s a river between you and me,
filled with all those “would have been”s and “maybe”s
“Maybe you were right, I did overreact”
“We would have been okay if I just let you make that anxiety joke”
“Maybe you were right, my fears were irrational”
“We would have been happier if I just listened to you
about what was wrong with me”
The sweet water in the spring from when the ice
around your heart melted
Is now drying up; adulterated by every grain of salt
that I began to take your words with;
only to be replaced by
angry tears and sweaty frustration
that put a sea of divide between us.
As we drift apart,
you're afloat,
going further,
leaving me to dive these depths alone.
I can feel myself sinking.
As if I had rocks at my feet
pulling me down;
As if my hands were tied
and no matter how hard I tried
I couldn’t swim out.
I think of how stupid I was to let you go;
how I should have just gone with the flow.
I wouldn’t have to fight this misery alone;
I try and drown in my sorrows
but my feet find solid ground,
our journeys brought me here,
it's a new land I've found.
Freedom, they called it.
And as I walked ashore,
the breath of fresh air brought with it
Enlightenment.
The rocks around my legs
that kept pulling me down
were your hardened hands,
tugging at them to thrust yourself up.
The weight of your insecurities
on your shoulder had become
my indescribable heaviness.
Your unreliability
turned into my paranoia.
Your covert jibes?
My anxiety, my insecurities,
and the realisation dawned on me.
I see you, far away, barely a speck;
probably nose deep in regret,
waving a hand,
calling out to me
I simply turn,
basking in my newfound liberation.
This Night Owl Original has been authored by Surabhi Parakhi. Surabhi is an aspiring journalist from Bangalore with a love for writing. An ardent reader, you can find her buried in a book at any given time.