baarish/rain

 

it’s been 268 days,

you hesitate and gulp back in

making it difficult for yourself even when you know it is how they feel too,

but evasive enough to hold back

you reach for the oxygen pockets out on your terrace

where all bougainvillea rises upward to hear you say it

finally

the words roll off your tongue like acid. you hear birds chirp in accidental unison at the other side.

“Why-

 why would you say that? Why now?”

tears flood down your cheeks 

You can barely keep it hushed now

choking on what there is left to say

your voice is menacing

more than it is coarse.

they call you out by your name

you hate it but you can’t stop them

they say it in a way that you feel gutted with a knife

“It’s the walls, the couch, the damned laptop, this phone, this coffee, and these vines

I hate it-

i hate it all but you. please.”  you say.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE 

like it is the most hurtful thing that you have ever said. 

so bloody hurtful that you wanna jump out of the terrace for saying it out loud. nobody knew these words. not the coffee not the walls no one. not even you for that matter. words so unspoiled that they rip you both in halves.

the coffee tastes like a bad shot of gin in your mouth.

and so it rains.