Prison

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When you looked at me from between the iron bars, your hands gripping them too tight, I could almost pretend that I was free and you were the one stuck inside. I glanced at the four walls that seemed ice-cold, even on a summer afternoon, and then at your knuckles that were turning white from clutching the bars.

Now that you're here, I don't know what I feel. I'm just numb... I got what I wanted, but what do I do with it now? Why do you still come here, anyways? You can't love me now, not anymore; do you love this place, then? It seems rather morbid and depressing. I even tried to end my life here, a couple of times. But I failed, of course. Just like I failed in everything else I tried to do.

Just out of curiosity, can you see the stars now? You always said that the darkness around the stars was thousand times more beautiful and beguiling than the twinkling little lamps. You taught me to see the stars, even though you yourself stared at the eternally foreboding mud and darkness.

Can't we trade places? It would be better for both of us, but I deserved this.

I had always loved the light, and you, the darkness. It is so ironic; I was plunged into the darkness while you have to suffer through the lurid brightness of the Sun, everyday.

The only light I can see now from this lonely cell is the faint flicker of the policeman's torch when he checks the place at night. Ha, as if I'd try to escape. Being here isn't daisies and all, but it beats being with you, anytime.

I mean, being with you, that was the past. It's called that for a reason, even though I can't move on. I don't think I ever will, but being stuck here will probably make my mind as rotten as the wooden benches outside reserved for the "special" people. Maybe that will make me forget how I continually hurt you, and everyone around us.

Every night, I try to sleep on the cold, hard ground and pretend that if I squint hard enough at the ceiling, I can see all the stars in the universe. But I can't. The stars always had a commendable sense of justice. Maybe that's why they hide their faces from me. I don't deserve to see them, the flawed soul that I am.

All I wanted was to be happy. I wanted to be with you. Now it will all be in the past tense. All our plans, hopes and dreams will be just fancies; a probability in some distant alternate reality.

I wanted to be happy. I don't deserve happiness, not anymore. Not after what I did to you and to everyone else. The stars know it, the law knows it, you know it too. Hell, even I have finally accepted that.

I wish I could blame them. I wish that I could say with utmost hatred in every fibre of my being that they are the ones at fault, that they destroyed everything. But I know the truth. So do you.

I am responsible for destroying everything.

 

 Photo by Felipe Vallin from Pexels

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