HIRAETH- BLOODIED REFLECTIONS
–Tulip Tewari
“She was my first and I so desperately wanted her to be my last.
I forever hold onto these mindless pieces of the past, looking for the slightest reflection of hers. I am no less than a madman!
As many broken mirrors as it takes.
You could smear my blood across her eyes, her nose, her lips, her cheeks.
You could wrap my veins around her arms and I’d still burn holes in my bones if she asked. She was my first and I condemn her for being my last.”
Monologue 1:
Part 5; Cases of the morgue and lot.
“It is rather strange how you know yourself better than anyone else, and yet you crumble at the words of another who hasn’t lived even a second of your life.” -Rupi Kaur
I think I was born with a suitcase. I am abandoning everything – that way I cannot be abandoned. My grandfather drank a lot, just to put a mask on my grandmother’s infidelity. Now she does the same, masking the absence with his first love – malt whiskey.
It was her escape, and I applaud her for it, but I’m sure mine will be better – brilliant, the best if I may say so. I have a concrete plan, of letting people down “slowly” – the final phase being accompanied by a dead body. You get the point; it will be good – great, grand – if I may call it so.
Part 2; Art.
“The world is a comedy to those that think; a tragedy to those that feel.” -Horace Walpole, Letters
‘Without form, we become abstract,’ is what my father’s father says – notice how he is not called “grandfather.” That is because titles carry weight, and to support such a burden you need steady shoulders which he does not have, never did, never will. However, he is right. Form is a strange word – a strange word consisting of stranger sentiments.
Part 12; Gatsby you mustn’t!
“The more things change, the more they remain the same.” -Alphonse Karr, Les Guêpes
I find it strange how I can memorize footprints, all except my own. I often wonder what they sound like. I find them intriguing, especially hers – the girl whom I hate, despise with a passion, and wish death upon with every living breath. The girl who, if asked me for a kidney, would be given both.
Part 7; I’m not sorry mom.
“And so, I stare into the sky. The night we met, there were twice as many stars as usual.”-Two Headed Calf by Laura Gilpin
For that ordinary moment of crying on your bedroom floor silently thinking ‘I want to go home,’ never really fully comprehending that “home” was lost four years ago. The walls stand with paint still in its early days, and yet the suffocation does too.
Part 4; Brilliant Insanities.
Nostalgia, my gentle ghost, the melody from a song half-remembered, whispering tales of what once was. The warm glow of a faded photograph, the rustle of leaves from a childhood park. The essence of moments gone by, a melancholic comfort that lingers in the heart, reminding us that time, once lost, is irretrievable yet cherished.
Part 11; Pieces.
To lose a friend is to lose a fragment of one’s own heart.
Our shared moments, once vibrant with laughter and the warmth of whispered secrets, have faded into poignant echoes that linger in the corners of my lips. Her smile, a melody that transformed my worries into solace, now remains as a haunting reminder of what was lost. Each passing year seems to deepen the chasm of her absence, making the ache of her memory more pronounced.
She was more than a friend, actually – she was a mirror to my soul – reflecting my joys and sorrows with unparalleled understanding. Now, she exists as a ghostly presence in my heart, a constant reminder of a bond that was both rare and precious. The pain of her absence is like a shadow that stretches across the landscape of my life, casting a melancholic hue over every moment that follows. I yearn for the days when our friendship was a tangible, living entity, full of shared dreams and promises. Her memory is both a comfort and a torment, a reminder of a connection that was everything to me, now lost to the inexorable passage of time.
She – my lost shoelaces.
Part 9; He told you so.
And he was right. Not that I cared anymore. (I did, it stung.). Saved tears, now there are none left to bottle. Too many basements left unexplored, not that it was a good idea in the first place. (It was. It is)
Part 10; Missing.
Call me on my cell phone
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Part 3; Whim Hof said ice baths!
“Every piece of me.”
Speaking of sentiments – in a hundred years when we are buried alongside Marie’ Antoinette’s severed head, when strangers will live in the places we fought so hard to call “home,” will we be too deep under to realize that this race for more is a useless charade? Death doesn’t discriminate.
The jasmine scent of her hair will still remain etched into my mind. We won’t even be memories.
Part 6; Here with me.
‘I wore her legs
Like a belt
Around my waist
I wore her out
Like my favorite shirt.’
-R.H Sin
Part 8; Gimme gimme love.
What is life?’ – a question asked by humans ranging from the ages 0-81.
People who have lived further than 8 decades have more important things to focus on, like looking for their missing teeth or femurs. We spend our entire lives looking for something – the constant search for love, for wealth, or for that sweater you saw in the catalogue. In looking for something, we end up losing ourselves. I often stare at the ceiling thinking where did the “I want to become an astronaut and live on Mars” version of me go? Circumstances, circumstances.
6 year old me thinks about 16 year old me, 16 year old me is proud of 6 year old me but isn’t sure if the feelings would be reciprocated. Perhaps they would, perhaps not. The uncertainty thrives, however one thing that I am certain she would be rabid about is that, no, we in fact did not marry Sebastian from the little mermaid (unfortunately.)
What I mean to say is, take a break.
Part 13; Soggy, Sorry Sorrows.
I saw something I had never seen before,
In your eyes I saw a happy me.
The ten pages of my suicide letter consisted of nine paragraphs talking about the eight most valued people in my life. The word ‘love’ has been mentioned seven times, yet, it was meant only six times. For it was the fifth person who drove me to choke on four sleeping pills, staring at the hazard warning on the box saying three was deadly while I was already enjoying my two minutes in heaven thinking if I was the miserable “one,” waiting for my heartbeat to surmount to zero.
I have abandoned everything, everyone and-but despite all attempts, the girl in the mirror and the shadow on the crevice refuse to abandon me. They all shriek but one name, Hiraeth.
I like this!