Wednesday, September 11, 2013


I have forgotten now, the scent of sunlight ever since I chanced upon those fateful eyes.

Each morning as I am catapulted from the chasm of my dreams, I see the first rays of sunlight paint these filthy walls purple. My head is still reeling from the visions of hell fire and annihilation, and suddenly those eyes; cold, hard and peace less as they are, make my existence feel like a peaceful pulsation. These windows, with shards of glass on their edges, let the cold November wind intrude into this house that was never a home. Sundays are the most painful for us. She had nowhere to go, and I had no one but her ever since I was with her.

I have burnt my existence away, ever since I chanced upon those fateful eyes.

She climbs out of bed, with a disgust that seems to me so immaculate. I caress the side of the bed where she laid, the side that’s lucky to still touch her skin, to still feel her breath, to still catch her tears. She undresses with her back towards me. I see those scars on her back; it was the skin that bled where her wings had grown and had ruthlessly been clipped out. I longed to reach out and touch the indented piece of flesh, but those eyes; those eyes flashed full on me all of a sudden, and I squirmed away with overwhelming fear.

My reality has slipped away from my fingers, ever since I chanced upon those fateful eyes.

She painted a door that led me to a world, where the torture of love was blissfully sweet. All these years I have known not of happiness, but of those emotions that you have no word for, but know them only by the absence of something that you do; perfect calm, perfect terror, and the existential reality of the non-existent.

My veracity has been ebbing away, ever since I chanced upon those fateful eyes.

I still remember the first time our fates entwined. She looked like a fallen angel from a land short of heaven, as troubled as trouble could be. With lace not ribbons did she make, but she made a snare to capture my existence and choke it till I believed it to be rightfully hers. I heard church bells in the distance, and even the leafless trees seemed to bend around her by the gravity of her mere being. And when those eyes, those eyes that stabbed me for the worse gazed right into mine, I felt the hair on my neck stand up in fear, like acetone on my skin. And as she placed her frigid lips against mine, an odd sense of satisfaction seemed to seep in, and the sense of belonging to anything else, any place else, and anyone other than her seemed to vanish from my memory. I felt myself crumble under the strength of her love. Collapse. I felt the brittle edges of my existence dissolve into hers. I felt a state of delirium set in.

I forgot to live for myself, ever since I chanced upon those fateful eyes.

Now, many years later, her silence is screaming for escape. But I realized that only when she left. I would've realized that her screams became more apparent and louder as the times passed by, or that the kisses stopped feeling frigid and felt like nothing at all, if she hadn't consumed me whole. I lost all my judgment the day she clawed at my skin and as she bit my lips in frenzy. Her love, if it was ever love, festered on ever since then and has always fed off of my deplorable self as I slowly became a bundle of despondency.

All sense of my anguish was lost on her, ever since I chanced upon those fateful eyes.

Her skin has always been lifeless, but to me has always felt like spring. Her kisses devoid of all passion, but to me felt like nothing could have tasted better. Her eyes have always been cruel, her iris transparent, her existence a lie, but to me, they’re an oculus to the only world I belong to. And today, when she got out of bed, I decided not to look at her since it angered her so much. I heard the satin slowly slip off her skin. I heard her getting into that black lace dress that sounded so fragile, I’m surprised every time she wears it, it doesn't tear. I heard her zip up her dress, and walk away in those pencil heels that she hated. But then, I can never be sure of what she loves and what she hates now.

Always have I known that I could keep her, but never have her, ever since I chanced upon those fateful eyes.

In my consummation, I sit against these windows with shards of glass that let in the cold November wind, into this house that was never a home, and saw her walk away. I wanted to ask her why she wasn't taking the car that day, but a voice within, that sounded oddly familiar, seemed to tell me to let her walk away.

And years after I chanced upon those fateful eyes, have I finally woken up from a dream, so strange and so obscure. And the eerie sense of incompleteness that comes almost simultaneously puts me at ease, like I’ve been snapped out of a lifelong hypnosis.

~ Carloine Xavier