By Namya Ganta
I saw you by the bay that day.
An old soul resting against the orange sky,
I walked over, not quite sure if I should,
I searched for you but,
You seemed lost in all the familiar places.
For all that I’ve known you,
You couldn’t look more of a stranger than you did that evening,
So much so that you could have disappeared in the influx of people at the tram station and,
You would be just another face in the crowd for me.
We sat in silence,
Like two unfamiliar people on a crowded park bench,
“I’m going home” you said finally, and I wondered,
Aren’t you too broken to be going back home?
But me being me, I know I wouldn’t say it.
So, all those words clattered against the pile of unsaid things,
we had between us since forever now.
Then, you saw me looking at you,
The receding sunlight making my iris a shade lighter,
Demanding some kind of truth but knowing I wouldn’t ask,
You didn’t bother to tell.
The tides against the white rocks,
were just a shade darker than your face as you tried to crack a joke,
Trying to get your color back, desperately holding on to who you were,
and gasping for invisible air.
In that moment, I saw reality slipping by you like time from between us,
I tried to hold onto you and you got up like you’d break if I were to touch you,
Like you were glass, and me?
An unformidable height that you feared falling from,
And shattering, acting like you weren’t already.
You hurried and picked up your bag, fumbling for it,
Even though the night hadn’t set in and you could see everything,
Including the look of disbelief on my wretched countenance.
I realized this would somehow,
Even though none of us say it, would be the last I see of you and,
This evening, would be something that fills your dreary nights with nightmare and relief.
I sat there not making sense of anything, as you started to leave,
Your shadowy figure bigger than your guilt, for the mistakes you never did and,
I hope you went home that evening and told someone,
why you were crying by the bay that day.