Never spoken, ever since.

"The bridge is now burnt.

There is no way out from here. To there.

Or there is and I am stubborn to not see it. Seeing it could be burning the ashes, and nothing rises again from the ashes. The dead stay dead, or just look ahead. I can't believe anyone who tells me otherwise. 

Then maybe I am not even here, I am there but I have a bubble all around me. And I am unlikely to break it now till I start choking on my own airs. 

Or maybe its not even that anymore. I choked long time ago. And I remember hitting out to burst this film of air, invisible, all around knowing there is no barrier here anymore. And you are right by my side. Choking on your own air and fighting your own invisible demons. 

We are here, there is nowhere else to go, no matter where we go. There are no bridges to burn, just a thin line of reasoning we offer ourselves in respite when we watch the ashes on ground, just below those feet. The feet are empty, but can't feel a thing. But maybe the cushion of ashes is comforting. 

Have we heard the trumpets of war calling us? It would be a pity to drown a dagger and bleed. Bleed without a cause. Wars are never with people, wars are meant to be personal, destroying the demons that haunt the possessed streets. The streets where its a shame to walk clothed. But that is what the world has now come to be, a shameful cloak. Where is the uninhibited glory of sunlight?

I have given you years of my prime. Every minute of it. Hoping you would take a minute of your own to fit my shoes. But you were waiting for someone to bring you a shoe that is yours. Like it happens when one starts dreaming of love. A lie spoken like a wafting thought, tender through air, uncorrupted. An emotion struck right is not really a melody, for with you by my side I felt, but not emotion.

I tried everything I could. Maybe, I could be friends with your own, maybe I could let myself bleed a little more. Just too many maybes. I hungered to find a space where you could see me. Know the thoughts I think, taste the wines that I drink. Where I could tell myself, this is shared. This is sacred. But you just lost me in words. But what else could I share?

Shared, It was not to be. You had three words for me: "I am angry". "I" happened to be the fourth word. Just outside every sentence you spoke. The word you never spoke to. The word you desired to ground to dust, like those ashes you hungered to feel. Just beneath your feet. Or was it mine? Me? 

Is it heart breaking? You tell me. But I have weathered it all. And now there is very little to even crumble. I will just have to hold myself together till dawn. And I see the crimson skies.

I have failed the night. I acknowledge.

But we will always be unforgiving. Of each others deeds. Unloving when the other pleads. Or maybe its not even that anymore. The bridge is now burnt and one knows there is something wrong with the world one has constructed when he has to span distances to find his feet. 

Then there is the dirty hope. Dawn is when I wake up. As much as I know the answer, I would still want to ask. It's a little luxury that a dream offers when in an instant you know you are not bound to it's rules. Will you be by my side when I do?" 

-----------------------------------------    o   -----------------------------------------        

I put down my last letter to her. I had buried it too long, and now I see the utter meaninglessness of it all. Maybe its time to seal it once and for all. This creek. With a kiss. 

Kaia, Kaia, spring is coming. Its a secret never spoken, ever since you left.