Leave

Soumya Mukhija

Stay.

The curve of my lips is not a smile anymore.

I remember the day you left me like it was yesterday.

The bright morning seemed more cheerful than it had been in ages

I remembered all the times

Your flesh grazed my flesh

Like slow addiction

Tongue tracing my goosebumps

Your scent engulfing my body

Each time I murmured your name in ecstasy

Fingers entwined, tightening as if even the God himself could not separate us

But you could. 

 

Stay.

I never knew what heartbreak was,

But it wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

It should’ve been sad, I should’ve been crying

But I wasn’t.

This was so much more than heartbreak

When I felt the thirst clawing at my throat and stared at the glass of water in front of me

But couldn’t move enough to drink it

I couldn’t feel myself

My body felt heavy, carrying it was a burden

The air around me turned into iron each time I tried to breathe

Bleeding from my nose, mouth, ears

Except there was no blood.

 

Stay.

I’ve been cleaning the house thoroughly nowadays

Brushing the remnants of your fingertips off the coffee mug

Wiping your crooked smile away from the mirror

Chipping all the walls

That were painted in the color of your skin

I had watched your back as you prepared to leave that day

And wished you could have prepared me, too.

“Shut the door behind you.”

 

Leave. 


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