By Esha Chauhan
I write in these pages all the things I could never say. Amidst the anticipation and excitement for this new year, a part of me wanders off to the past. I have to be careful before I can let this mind wander because
Wander, is the forte of this mind.
It can walk and walk itself into a bustle of traffic.
Into the mouth of the beast & unto it's belly.
This mind wants a call from the 'one that got away' but also to tell them how they are 8 months too late
And how can I trust it's thoughts when I can't even REMEMBER what they look like anymore
I can think myself into corners made out of words into boxes of grey into mirrors of beige
And this mind is my home but it's also my own graveyard
I have ghosts running around and
I don't know what they want and
I just let them run around until
I am a wreck
Until the anxiety rushes into the graveyard
And it's been 8 months
And they really are 8 months too late
To hear how I've been great
Lost your chance,
Wouldn't have, had it not been eight.
I want to tell them, I miss them, but how can i if i cant remember the sound of their voice?
These thoughts, are suggestive.
And my brother's in the other room screaming into a cell phone
Screaming into space
And that used to be him & I so then how can I miss that
And its been 8 months to last fight
It's been 8 months to mental exhaustion and burnout
And how i thank the stars and the entire universe for the eight
And in the same sentence my mind adds under its incomprehensible breath "what if he wasn't too late"
The what ifs will knaw at me if i let them
And gasping for air in the graveyard that is this mind
I just heard my brother in the other room,
Whispering into the same phone
I hear him tell her
"It's okay, baby. It'll be spring soon and amidst the growing bloom
I'll find you, and we'll be together again, soon."
And all I'm trying to say is, maybe, I miss that.
I don't miss you, but I do wish them well.
But I don't wish them me, anymore.
I wished them me for a lifetime, 8 months ago.