There is a way in which people break you.
There is no preparation for all the plenty ways in which you could disintegrate into a million tiny pieces, it reminds me of all the times my friend who said there wasn’t a god described death, a slow descent into nothingness, gross darkness and time playing a cruel trick; a continuous loop.
I have never been able to understand it until recently when loneliness started nesting between the spaces in my body that I kept for all the people I loved. It usually starts with half-baked conversations about the weather, a series of how are you’s that no one wants the truth to, sarcasm meant to cut you in two’s and leave you bleeding out on the streets, hurried goodbyes, eyes begging to be understood, a body aching from carrying its own weight; aching to be touched, held. A longing to be seen.
You see I have never known how to carry my aloneness well perhaps it is in this awkward dance with myself, a face i do not quite remember, hands wrapped tightly trying to cradle this frail frame, legs tilting towards salvation, hips moving in defiance, that i try to find pieces of myself.
Bones breaking, blood refusing to flow to your heart, your body bloodied with bruises; an aftermath of a war you didn't even know you were fighting.
They speak of healing and a gathering of selves into one piece,a returning, they even dare to speak of the staying. But no one ever tells you No, not even a faint whisper about the pain of setting bones, the stench of open festering sores, the dull ache in your head from trying to forget the pain.
They don't tell you that even if you manage to gather yourself, you might not remember where each piece fit, that returning would feel like being dropped in the middle of sahara desert, you might lose direction and that it is always scary when you know no one is even looking for you.
This place called lonely,lost and no direction almost feels like rock bottom.