~ Gayathri Nair
“you don’t have to make it so difficult”
your words stare into your hot chocolate,
and my coffee tastes more bitter than the sip before.
“i don’t want to talk about it”,
but then i make up a scenario in my head where i talk about it.
where when you say that you love me like it’s a matter of fact,
i don’t have to hide and write it on your back.
i’m breathing into my bones,
and every breath breaks into my broken childhood home.
my haunted house.
let me show you around.
be careful,
and walk around the
broken frames and broken memories
sprawled out on the ground.
i want to walk barefoot.
every shard inserts into my skin,
like a dvd.
it plays home videos
of screeching,
bawling,
“fuck you,
and this.”
but they painted over this haunted house,
pretended that it doesn’t exist anymore.
but i still have the keys.
is it enough to hold you with my trembling hands?
take my warmth and pain- both dishevelled and tangled between the sand.
we grow from the cracks and crevices of the caverns we embrace in,
i love you out of spite for my youth, and i love you out of fear from within-
that i’ll feel too much,
but never deserve it.
“are you done?”
i look down at the empty paper cup.
“yeah”
“i can’t believe starbucks makes us pay
500
just to spell our names wrong”
footsteps echo down the stairs that we chose to take,
the footsteps- slow, careful and wary
for my sake.
you open the door-
and the scent of coffee beans
are washed away by this city’s air.
“where are we going?”
“i don’t know.”