Love, Me

Baby,

Shanti is not my name. Once upon a time it might have been, but I can’t say I know peace: I’d like to meet her. Hope because she lives in me; hope because that’s what I do; hope because I’ve spent my life hoping for something I can spell and define but cannot even begin to understand. Peace. She’s never lived inside of me.

Babushka, Russian nesting dolls: shells inside of shells, inside of shells, all different sizes but one thing’s the same. All of them are hollow. Hollow like promises. Hollow like vows. Hollow like the soul behind my eyes when you tell me you love me. I can barely bring myself to look at you. My heart’s in too much pain to face the truth.

“No he doesn’t,” it hisses. “No he can’t,” it cackles. “Even if he did, he won’t tomorrow,” it murmurs. “No one loves you,” it whispers. “Nobody can,” it rasps. “He’s funny,” it giggles. “Nothing good can stay,” it breathes. Guess you can feel what lives inside of me.

And it’s not even that I don’t want to believe you, it’s that I don’t know how. It’s not hard for me to love you. It’s not hard for me to say so. But I know me and my past will hurt you as it haunts me. I want to be held but thorns draw blood. You’ll only hold on for so long. This is what I tell myself so it hurts a little less when I let you go. It’s easier to believe what I’ve always known to be true: that I am regrettable.

Call me back so I can tell you that it’s over. I can’t stand the thought of you leaving me. I get so angry sometimes, I can’t even feel anything. Blinded by memories that need air time, so loud I’m silent when I have to scream. Call me back because things I forgot that I’d forgotten are painting you out to be a man you’d never want to be. A man you never were. A man you’ll never be. When you look into my eyes, I wonder if you always know me.

My sister paints lines onto the blurry landscape of my memory.

Shapes.

Objects.

Faces.

Expressions.

Words.

Actions.

Feelings.

Terror.

And I didn’t have the answer but now I know why we ran. Said he was deaf but he could hear. She said he was going to kill me.

Car.

Drive.

Sleepless nights.

Coffee.

Way out.

Black, grey, white.

What are thoughts in color when you’re trying to survive?

Floor.

Dog.

Class on Zoom.

Oatmeal.

Peanut butter

Stars, no moon

No light, no daytime, no clarity, no continuous stream of anything but who are traumatized people if not zoetropes? What are movies if not too many pictures moving too fast?

I am moving too fast. Too fast because I know of gaps in memory that I don’t want to see. Quoting scripture back at God, telling Him to catch up with me. I want to be healed and as a man thinketh, so is he, but God is the healer. I just want you to hold me.

Shut it up, turn it down, do something. Please. My name might have been Shanti, but it wasn’t. I don’t know peace.

Filling my upper room with thoughts of you but I can’t continue to put you in a position where you medicate me.

I love you so much and that’s exactly why I have to let you go. I have to set you free. Be safe. Take care.

Love,

Me