I catch a glimpse of it the first time very unexpectedly.
Something distracts me from your shiny smile and i only notice a small little sparkle.

I watch you when you are beaten down and i see you struggle, but i never see you pull it out.
It is lodged quite deep, i see it one day when you're asleep, not vulnerable. You're just yourself when you're asleep.

One day i get a hold of it somehow. I know it hurts you, i ask if i should pull it out. You say it's not time yet. I ask you why. You tell me that the wound is still fresh. I frown, let me make it better, I say. 'You are.'

Over time, I feel it loosening up. When you get the good shivers while i stroke your neck, i watch it almost slide off. You don't notice it because I think you don't want to.

A few days later i see you watching your back in the mirror. The knife is gone. You smile a weak smile. You're about to say something but you stop, i know what it is. You would have said 'i weirdly miss it'. You keep it on the bedside a few days. It doesn't sit right with me, but it has to be done, for you.

A few fays later you drive me far away, we find a corner and bury it. We watch the last of it- steel, covered in blood, glint for the last time as we cover it with the last bit of earth.

You hold my hand tightly. We come home in silence. You cover me in a protective way. I tell you I'm sorry you went through that and i sob. You stroke my neck, in a way that gives me the good shivers. You tell me you wanted to do this for so long. But as much as it was hurting, you wished for it to be that way. You had to carry the pain till it became dull otherwise, you said, the **** already had a sharp knife i didn't want to make it deeper by holding a grudge. Why should i suffer alone, i used to think, you said.

But you look at me and say i think all a wound needs is some time to heal and some kindness. You say this is forgiveness, thanks for letting me discover it, i realise that what hurt me had to be discarded.

Pain internalised is grief accomodated.

You trail a dimpled finger down my spine and poke at a tender spot, i wince, looks like i stopped at the right time you say.

Desire and Dream are cousins.

The ones that sometimes contact each other about things they've forgotten but end up reminiscing together for hours. One forgets the other's birthday but the other always keeps their favourite snacks in the fridge in case they come over. One is more responsible and the other leans on them a bit more than they want to. But both are fierce in the way they feel about each other. "I'm not saying you're wrong," says Desire. "It's my job to be impossible at times," Dream replies. They recognise generational sorrows and don't ask twice. They hope a lot, almost resembling the other when they daydream. And when they look at shooting stars, they wish the other well each time.


Pain and Passion are lovers.
None of them can be strong for the other. But they bear the burdens together surprisingly well. When one outweighs the other, they will always take it upon themselves to disprove how the other is in worse shape. Onlookers find it funny. They take it way too seriously. They might end up hurting each other. But they patch themselves up pretty quickly, and without the other's help. They are very independent that way. In tough times and in easy times they will always await for the other with open arms. And wait, and wait, and wait some more. Till one of them gives up.


Kindness and Envy are neighbours.
They joke about the grass being greener. When both their jasmines are dying. One of them keeps a plant hidden inside. The other sprinkles water over the fence. During rains, they pick up the wet newspaper from the others pathway and push it all the way into the porch to save what's left of it. One does not warn the other about the wasp nest in their attic window. The other does not complain about the extra bright Christmas lights that pour into their bedroom window. They smile at each other with pursed lips. They don't laugh when the other skids and falls while shoveling snow.

i sit and deconstruct the night sky.
one star at a time, i pull them and place
them on my arms and braid them into
my hair.
i feel the moon looking
at me with envy.
i could peel my skin off to nestle
them beneath it, and maybe ichor
will reside
in my veins.
the clouds are wispy and mysterious
they shroud something but they wither
at my touch.
the moon hangs low as i grab it and swing
my legs on either side of the sleek
crescent.
i sit there
astride the celestial and
i can't believe that the earth
will shift and
i'll find myself on the breakfast table
buttering a toast
and waiting
for stars to be bright enough
to shine during gloomy days.