I was alone yesterday when it started. The loud ringing in my ears and the pain in my head. The constant feeling of someone else being around me, and seeking non-existent shadows all over. When night fell, the ache in my head ceased, and in its place, insomnia.
I twist and turn in bed, the cold doing the least in alleviating my frustration. In the darkness, I outstretch my hand to my bedside table, craving for a glass of water. Then a thud, and a splash. And my pillow is soaked in water, and I struggle to save my laptop.
I feel the tears hot against my cheeks, so I struggle to maintain my calm. It is well. It shall be well. It shall go away, whatever it is. But it doesn’t. Instead, a hotness erupts in my chest, and I struggle to not scream.
With closed eyes, I see your face before me, gently pressing my shoulders, and asking why I am crying. Why I am afraid. Why I am letting all these take a toll on me. I remember the crack in your voice the first time I mentioned I had had an anxiety attack. The urgency in your voice, saying, ‘You can talk to me, you know?’ The gentle look in your eyes when I sat next you, as you waited for me to lay my heart bare.
You waited. And waited. And waited some more. And I didn’t let it out. Maybe because just seeing you, and being around you, relieves all my burdens. My heart rests whenever it feels you. My body calms whenever it hears your voice. The voices in my head quieten whenever I see you. Because this far, you are the only person who sees through me, and still holds me in such high regard.
Like the way you listen to my grief, in silence. Holding my hand, and rubbing it softly. You looking into my eyes, past the dwindling sparks, and understanding just how much grief has dented my heart and soul. It is you filling my bookshelf with books, hoping I find myself therein. It is you calling, and letting me just sit in silence. It is you calling, and attempting to make me laugh. It is you telling me that it is okay to break down. It is okay to mourn. It is okay to feel all those things I am feeling, because loss is not something I should be ashamed of.
It is you sitting next to me, and staring into my eyes. You, listening to my hopes and dreams, and urging me on. Listening to these things that make my heart shudder, like pain and loss, and pulling me close, whispering peace and love into my ears.
It is you, when life has beaten me to the ground, bringing me the nicest of foods, eating in silence, before filling my glass with goodness and niceness. It is you asking me to be kind to myself. To take a rest. To listen to the sounds of my heart. To be welcoming of love and affection, even though these are the very things that have hurt me so much in the past. It is you asking me not to be afraid, because you shall always be there; to hold my hand.
It is you saying goodbye, reluctantly, looking into my eyes and whispering, ‘Don’t be a stranger’. It is the memory of your warm embrace that lulls me to sleep, and reminds me of the most beautiful bond I have ever formed. It is me feeling so guilty for making it hard for you to come closer to me; unless I have hit rock bottom.
It is me getting home, and your message sending me directly into bed: I love the way your laughter fills my house. It is beautiful. Maybe the most beautiful I have ever come across.
Because you are the only one who gets me. Understanding my fears, even before I voice them. Likening me to Sia; a beautiful mystery. Allowing me to fly to wherever my wings take me, and being always ready to guide me down, whenever I start falling. You seeing the darkness beneath my eyes, and still moving closer to me and asking, ‘What troubles you?’
It is me knowing that there are things I can only say to you, even though I haven’t mustered enough courage yet. They sit still in my heart, and I crave the day I shall sit with you, again, and let it out. That even as days go by, and we start feeling like strangers, it is still only you that I can talk to about these things that keep me wide awake at night.
Because you are the only one who knows my heart and soul. The only one who understands the language of my spirit; mystery and darkness. The only one who hears the sound of my voice long before I begin to speak. The only one who guides me even within my own darkness.
And I know this is home. This is permanent. This is never going away; this thing we have between us. This bond we share. No matter how hard I try, these things I want to talk to you about are never leaving my heart. That they are things about me, darkest of them all, and only you has the capacity to hold them in.
I know because I am seated in bed, anxiety filling the best part of me, and thinking only of you. And craving your gentleness and softness. And waiting for the sound of your calm voice, urging me to calm down. It is me wishing you were here, next to me, so my heart and soul can know what peace is. It is me crushing back into bed, frustrated, because I know how hard this is. This craving for you. This wanting you. This deep-seated desire for your hand to gently rub against mine. This knowing that I shouldn’t be this dependent on you, and not doing anything about it.
Because somehow, you are the only language that my heart understands.