Of a Girl Even You Couldn't Break

The first time you saw her, you could only think about how you would like to lock her smile somewhere only you could see it. How you envied the wind carrying her laughter to the parts of the world unknown to you. How you wanted to narrow the world down to the walls of your house where  it would echo around every corner and fill all the abandoned spaces. And like a child who was never taught to hear "no", you could not let her drift away, could not leave her alone.

You said you loved her and yet you never let her live. You thought she was too much for the world or the world was too much for her. Every night you climbed on top of her, your fingers branding her body, your lips marking her while her spirits longed for freedom, trapped in a body that no longer felt like hers. And in the quiet darkness behind her closed lids, she recalled brown eyes and soft curves and hands that used to worship her body instead of roughly claiming her, and you thought she was yours when she arched beneath you, when she smiled and dug her nails in your shoulders, as though you could ever get to her, as though you could ever catch a soul that has already flown away.

You come home now, your footsteps sounding too loud in your empty house, and dazedly watching your hands you wonder when she slipped away from your fingertips. In dreams, those hands clench into fists and you bring them down until even her shadow reduces into smithereens. Only to wake up to bruised knuckles and aching bones and your hands fumbling in the darkness and finding nothing.

But years after you still won't understand why she left, how she left. How does a bird fly away when you've so carefully clipped her wings? When you've made sure the scars never heal? You won't understand because no one ever told you that you can't chain a person through veiled threats and swinging fists and your raised voice accompanied by the sound of shattering glass. Or maybe because you never understood the ache for freedom, trapped in your own cage of fears all your life. Maybe you never knew what love really is, so you just gathered all that was in your heart, all the fear, the bitterness, the coldness and called it love, and so love began to taste like poison on your lips- sharp, bitter, and ready to swallow her whole.

You won't understand how even an injured bird can crawl her way out with a broken body because you might know how to splinter bones or split open skin but you can't ever scratch a will hardened by rage and tinged with desperation. Your hands are far too weak for that.

Alright. I guess I just need to say this. At first I made this blog solely for books. Ranting about them, reviewing them and writing about how I came to love them. Because till last year, they were my only escape. The only way I could forget a whole lot of things I didn't want to deal with. If there is anything I'm good at, it's shutting out the world, and books more than helped me do that. But now I'm finding new ways to retreat when life gets too much and writing abstract things is one of them. So I guess what I'm saying here is, I'm no writer and I have no big dreams of becoming one either. I mean, yes, I do have a tendency of dreaming impossible things but even I don't hope for something that far-fetched. All of this is fairly new to me and who knows I might ditch this when the excitement finally begins to waver. So as long as this is giving me the much needed high, you all have to unfortunately bear with this.
 
Picture credits:  Volkan Olmez