sushiela

I see the words appear on the lines that crease your forehead, or the space between your brows, before you even speak out. You’re aged further by the very weight of your thoughts, you turn pale at an image that rests at the back of your eyelids, places far beyond my reach.

I cannot shelter you from those demons. But I can tell you that if you ever find the courage to speak, to say what you feel, I’ll listen. I’ll listen and I won’t judge you. We are allowed be imperfect, and flawed and totally lost together. But at some point, we have to find our way back home.

I’ll take your hands, and bring them to your lips and show you how perfect they are. How wonderful they’d look if only you’d just smile. I’ll touch your hair and brush those beautiful brown locks of yours down, entangling them in my fingers, fistfuls of you. Bringing you closer to me, I take my hand and brush them over to your feet with all its ten toes; to show you that you can walk, your steps are not cursed, and you are not marred by a burden carried. You are not crazy; nothing needs to stay in your head. I will love you through the vulgarity of your thoughts, through the sting in their vulnerabilities and even through this, will I want to see your vicarious raw soul.   

Don’t be afraid to let me embrace you. You will always be free, you’ll always be you. I don’t want to change any of that. I’m here to show you that you can still love this world. There is still happiness for you here, happiness that your age cannot take away. Your wrinkled skin a testimony to the feats you have performed with honesty and sincerity. Your face doesn’t lie. I get it. You are tired.

I can’t tell you how it could have been different. But I can tell you I’m happy it was not, because if it was, we would not be here right now. So please please laugh once more for me, and let me lay you to rest. The one I am thankful for.