It ends

They keep asking me am I okay.. and I can’t lie, I am okay. But faber drive… faber drive is keeping me up late at night today.

am i the fool, am i a victim
I’d rather know,
you’d rather kiss her, good night, tonight, I’m blinded
i try, i tried
is this the way, is this the way, it ends

I hate how every song on my playlist spirals into thoughts of him, I hate how I can’t look at a single place in my room without some piece of him there; his pillow, his perfume, his shirt, his books, his toys. I hate how my saturday’s are just empty. I hate how we had such synchronized lives where every day feels empty, now that i don’t have him to share it with. I’m sure i packed away what he might need if he stayed over again, and sent packing with him whatever he shouldn’t keep here anymore. But how do I unburden my heart and my mind of all the thoughts and technicalities of logic I’d placed to keep him around.

So this is what your first heart ache with a real romance feels like. Like phantom pieces of glass stuck in your ribs from the inside.

I’d known from the start it was going to end, and then there were all the signs of how it was definitely not going to end well. And then it ended, and it didn’t end well as expected. I did what I did, and gone was the week I thought I had to savor the last of what we shared together. I had it revised. I never have conversations that were not even the least rehearsed in my mind. But there he was ready to burst into tears whenever I looked away, his heart……. just torn.

It was not supposed to end like this. I was not supposed to talk to him about something this precious stuck in a train ride from hell. There was wine to be had, there was dinner i’d planned on, i’d hold his arm, or let my fingers trace his perfect cuticles and look into those amber eyes and just….. tell him, tell him from the bottom of my heart, the truth finally… irrelevant of how he took it.

But lifes like that… life, the ruiner of mentally calculated plans that are yet to be articulated for optimal effect.

Now i was left with a version of him I’d never seen before, and a version of him that had to kiss her goodbye just to get me to safety. It was over before this trip began, because those lips can never touch mine now.. not like they ever could, but there was always hope until that kiss. Till our kiss… if it happened. Hope against all hope, now forever lost in oblivion.

I just wanted to hold him in my arms and tell him everything will be okay. I just wanted to hug him… let my fingers carefully soothe away the weight of being him, right now.. and who he really was, always. Tell him that i didn’t need absolutes or answers.. Just take my love, take my comfort and just..rest for awhile. Just know that everything will be okay, or I damn well would kill to give it to him.  Put a hand over his heart and just will it to be happy again, like he is with me most times… drunk, and happy. That I would give him a future, anything he’d wanted, just rest on me, and I’d take care of it, even if it meant i would have to bear the pain of leaving his side for an agonizing second. And all i wanted in return was to acknowledge my love. Not sex, not affection, not understanding, not pity, definitely not ignorance or what’s happening now. Not… nothing happend.

Not “He just needs some space. We just need a break..from each other”. I never thought Space could sound so ugly

I’d read about it before.. I could use the word in a sentence… but I never thought I’d come to emote what it truly meant to be in despair at the young age of 25. He just turned 20, a week ago. And here he was…….. caught in a maelstrom of his own emotions. I’d like to teach him that word.. make a silly joke about it only we’d understand, like how in the future we’d be joking about how I almost got arrested for taking the fight to his psycho-ex-girlfriend. Me the…. ‘friend’. The one that loved him in a way he’ll never understand. I’d like to be over him by then. I’d like loving him to be a distant memory, an embarrassing joke only close friends were allowed to make.

they warned me it would end. I knew it would end. Just didn’t think it would be this soon, and for this reason. And loosing him as it ends wouldn’t be this severe. Even though I understand it needs to be this brutal… he was just to exquisite to forget from real life without this great disappearing act.

I’m writing this, as it ends.. the last hopes and dreams and desires i have for him die and stop distracting me from moving on with my life.. without him. They say it take 21 days to develop any kind of habit.. I’m giving myself 42 just to be safe without him in my life, sparing my weak moments of socially acceptable conversation to dull the ache occasionally. And sadly, he makes me wonder whether he even understand what I’m feeling.. correction, what I felt for him. and what I was ready to do for him, with or without his approval, to give him a chance at happiness.

I’m in a sudden mood for movies that have tragic endings for unrequited lovers. I hope that with each day I see him, with each instance we’re forced to be in the same social situation it hurts less right in the middle of my chest, physically. And i hope to god it isn’t all the cigarettes i’ve suddenly doubled… My mother is definitely not going to to take heartbreak as an excuse.

I know falling out of love is painful and slow.. almost as tricky as falling in love was. i wonder if we can still be friends… i hear it doesn’t work like that at all. But i’d like to try… even as devastating as it feels seeing him fall for someone else might be. But time heals all wounds, even the ones we can’t get to the usual way.

Does it matter

He wakes up early… blame it on a school boarding upbringing. But somehow someway.. I just instinctually know when it’s a message from him. It would come early, sometimes expecting me to see it first thing in the morning a few hours later on my phone/whatsapp or fb, but yesterday… things were different. I was having trouble sleeping after loosing sleep over a project i’m working on, and just caught the message as it was.

Chaos ensued, conversation rattled on with long pauses on both sides. But it ended with him egging me on to sleep. Endearingly saying things that woke me up in cherished candor than peaceful slumber brought on by light and tired eyes. But i constantly second guess myself. I bet he says that to everyone i tell myself, trying to sober it up a bit. Maybe he uses words interchangeably as i do after all…

I couldn’t help myself as I reached out in desperation for a moment of truth.. a blatant attempt of clarifying his endearing sms. or to get a note in the right direction. that all this back and forth in the wee hours of morning were not in vain. that we were heading somewhere beautiful and marvellous. That all of this mattered. all of this was matter in a heavier ambition.

but it wasn’t in vain really. After all it was him, it was all about him, for him. Pure, unselfish, innocent love. A heavy price, a deathly toll.. I secretly wish sometimes that all these would create a demand in him, but that’s not how it should work.

So i settled for his neither here-nor-there remark. Wondering what kind of blind he was to not see the signs. Or if he wasn’t, what kind of cruel, to either lead me on or not address. But then again his innocence….. his unknowing in this cause.. might well be the death of me.

 

Demisexuality and My Cliché

 

I knew he was trouble when he walked in, last year. I saw his cute doe eyed face and just knew that pudgy burgher boy was trouble. Even though he’s evened out now, become fitter now. Become a man now. A man that makes my leather jacket look even better when he wears it around. I like how my friends give him a knowing smile when they see him in my things, and I love how he smiles back, oblivious to the gesture; meticulous-and-prejudiced ‘me’ that doesn’t even let my niece touch my things gives him free reign with my wardrobe. I’ve ended friendships over people who tried on my accessories, leave alone giving him my favourite pair of socks. I’d buy him the world if he’d take it. I’d give him the last piece of bacon in the world. I’d steal chocolate from my mum for him. I’d give him the slippers off my feet, like I did just yesterday. Crazy things I’d never do. Why am I doing what I do? I ask myself too.

Something’s not right here, my friends think. And in a good way they think. And they know better than to address it until I bring it up. The celibate homoromantic demisexual now out and about is something worth celebrating for them.

At first it was the hi’s and the bye’s. The random friend request, the occasional like or comment, till he messaged. Then the hope the conversation carried onto real life. And it did. He was sweeter in real life, more adorable in person. I didn’t see how he stole a piece of my heart every time he bashfully initiated conversations, or carried them on, online and offline when he got to know me better. Then he’d lean on me, hang on me, surprise me with a hand around me, dig his nose in my neck from behind, whisper in my ear. I was hooked in a month. I was so done for with each trishaw ride we shared. Before I knew it, he was everywhere, with me, teaching me how boys do things, although he seemed to be a different kind of boy. A better boy; one that parents would love to point out to their respective offspring and say, “here, why can’t you be like him”, although that kinda falls through when they see him with me, Blue haired, skinny jeans wearing, cigarette smoking, dances with anybody me.

He was amusing. He made me dream again, be a kid again. Find the innocence I lost in my adolescence; he surely kept his in this cold dark place we called home. So we played well, and dreamed well. I dreamed and knew I’d be a king someday, so I promised him that he’d be my prince. I had other kingdoms to take over and add to my kingdom, he was supposed to rule over. He was the robin to my batman, but I really wanted him to be the batman to my superman. He was such a cliché, a king of clichéd behaviour and beliefs. The Derek to my Stiles, or the Stiles to my Derek, the holmes to my Watson, the Kirk to my Spock, the Mike to my Harvey. I don’t care anymore for the make believe, because he’s a part of my reality. He is the dog persona to my cat persona. The mint to my chocolate chip, the tie to my suit, the one other person who subconsciously reads passing signs out loud, the one other person who mixes up left and right in Sinhalese. The man I feel like I’ve waited for all my life. I don’t know where this is heading, but I like this. He can complete my sentences, and I can literally speak out loud what he’s thinking.

He’s stolen public property for me, because it’s made sense in his beer addled mind. I like how he messages me randomly, says he misses me, or makes plans to hang out. I like how he’s better at remembering things I’m supposed to, or can wake up at exactly the right time he needs to without me, and wakes me. I like it when he sleeps over, somewhere I can make sure he’s got the softest pillows, the best home-made dinner, and a blanket I tucked around his sides myself, and creepily watch over for a bit, and make sure his fallen leg gets back on the bed. I need him, and I like how he needs me in some ways.

I want him to be happy, I want him to know how beautiful he is, inside and out… and how his barely there stubble is the cutest, and how he can’t balance his sideburns for toffee. I like how he once just outright wanted a hug in public because he had a bad day. I like how he doesn’t think twice before shouting at me for missing a meal, and forcing me into a chair to forcibly nibble at something. I like how he’d let me have the last biscuit, I like how I can give him the last lollipop or cigarette. I like how he wouldn’t think twice about pulling my pants up for me, and I would for him. I like how I’d ask, and he’d just answer me with exactly what I ask him, without the lies or the bullshit. I like how he’ll not ask me anything I wouldn’t like to answer. I like that I can hug him, and he’d just melt away for a few seconds, and forget all the hurt and pain.

But I’m just a boy who loves him, and he’s just a boy who loves me; but not the same way. I’d look into his eyes, get lost in his smile, trim his beard in a way he’s yet to learn, and help him into my very own leather jacket and smooth it out, and roll the sleeves just right, and he’d only see a really good friend, not a romantic interest. A friend who taught him how to hit on girls, the right way to dance with them, and be confident and direct with them, a friend who will sneak him a drink at a party he’s definitely not supposed to be drinking or smoking.

I’d learnt that friendships and conversations with cute, sweet, funny boys don’t end well for my kind. Especially when they find out… I’m on the prowl for exactly that. But he took it astride, almost confidently. But I should’ve understood better he comes from this magical world where boys are friends with boys, any kind of boy, and boys dressed in a certain way, and girls were girls, girls were strange and beautiful, the outdoors were way more fun, and you walked everywhere. I should’ve known he was going to be trouble, but his inability to understand the situation, made it even easier to go where I went. But it gave me something magical.

A chance to be friends with a boy who never grew up prejudiced or concerned about what my sexuality, or sexual preference would imply. It was beautiful to bump shoulders, and let our relationship be tactile, organic, normal…if that was even possible. But then again, the opposite might have kept me from this predicament. When you’re demisexual, it’s all these things that do you in. You fall in love first, or you have to fall in love first before there is anything more. Sometimes I wonder if we were all like this once… but only few remember it, few want it, and there are those, who suffer through it.

But I believe the universe had a reason to bring him into my space, so against my better judgement, I want to love him. I want to love the cliché way we fit together, work together, live together, love together, even thought it might be other people. Because what is love, that you can’t give it away, unconditionally. One day, maybe he’ll be my cliché. One day we might part ways. And then, the universe will start this painful yet powerful cycle of love and friendship again with someone else, and hopefully it will end soon.

You are Pain

You are pain, a bitter sweet,
a silly gain,
to know you are here with me,
but never will be,
forever mine, or only for a time,
a fleeting glance,
a one sided romance,
you are pain,

you could be,
the dream that unites a thousand dreams,
but you are pain,
you will know my name,
but never say it like you are meant to,
because i can’t let you,
because i’m meant for something greater,
but for the moment, you are pain,

life says you will pass,
but you are pain,
an ache i hold dear,
a love i have made,
that you will never know,
because if you do, there might be more,
more pain,

you are pain,
like a sudden rain,
you came so fast, and you will end,
and i will never be the same,
yet you will go on,
a heavy cloud, never meant for me,
but rain nevertheless,
yet in vain.