Saturday, February 25, 2017

The Unnameable

You texted that you would have to stay longer for a meeting. Reading the message my imagination went wild feeling in all the gaps of the misspoken words, of the details you so skilfully left out. Longer... you took the time from me, from us... Why? For whom? Whose on the other side of the spiral that you are so desperately yet calmly reaching towards?

You know, last night I had a dream, a dream about something I would rather not name, because well, probably because of some stupid superstition that if I name it then it might become more real then it needs to be. Or maybe because naming it makes it so blunt, so plain and cliche. We don't like cliche, we don't starve for uniqueness either,we like being us, being ourselves. But yes, back to my dream... I cried, I cried in my sleep because you hurt me so much in my dream. With the first sunlight crawling inside our room through the cracks of the blinds you got up and kissed me as usual, took the extra blanket from the floor and made sure I was warm and covered before you left. I heard you but was too mad to open my eyes, to mad to even give one of those half-asleep smiles that has a special tenderness of effortlessness that makes it so sincere. I was mad... hurt... still half-asleep, still under the veil of dreams that can be so vivid at times that one can't help but wonder which is more real, your morning kiss or the hurtful dream?

I went on with my day pretending it's just a bad illusion that will soon pass. And then I received your text. I did not want to treat it as a sign but the pain crawled back into my chest like green smoke that is noiseless but can't be unnoticed. So I noticed it, I had to. Hours kept passing and biting my lips did not help any bit. has it been hours really? probably not, but it sure felt like it. Time is so irrelevant at times like this, it can stretch when you are in a state of waiting, it can fill the entire room with it's slow pace, crawl under the furniture to fill out every single empty spot and crack. The silence grew louder in the room and it seemed as if the walls would scream at me soon, and all because I so desperately wanted to escape my own thoughts while their haunting presence would not leave the room.

Desperate emptiness.. It is torturing me... the unnameable...


                                                                                                                         © Lilit Ghazaryan