always,
always there was something
wrong.
something out of place
something unfitting
something unnatural.
the hugs were too tight
the kisses were not right
the smiles never reached the eyes
and
I was left.
always.
always to wonder
why? why?
then,
one day,
after a very long time
I checked my scars,
my bruises
my bitterness.
that were inflicted by him.
inflicted by me.
and, I understood.
whenever he opened his mouth
it was not the heart
but the brain.
that spoke the words.
the words.
that I heard with the heart.
He said what I wanted to hear.
I heard
what I wanted to hear.
I heard
what he wanted me to hear.
But, it was not his fault,
nor mine.
nor time.
he was ‘the type’ of a man
who saw the mirror in me.
I was not the mirror.
nor the door,
nor The Answer.
but, he was in search
for The Answer.
and,
I was in search of a place to call home
he was not my home.
[P.S this poem is highly influenced and inspired by Sarah Kay’s “The Type”.]
May 6, 2014
Posted by Smita at 6:11 AM, Labels: Day-by-Day, Heart-Beat, memories, Poems, Location: Pondicherry University, Kalapet, Puducherry 605014, India
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