Him And Her And More Than That

(Her)

To others, I am human. I am flesh-bodied with organs, blood cells and a pumping heart. I am a specimen to some, an object of experimentation and a biological exploration. I am human with bones and flesh and a skull above. I am like the other humans. But, I am different to everyone. Everyone I know thinks of me differently and what I think of them or what I ever thought of them, now I’ll never know.

My skull itches and stretches. It aches in a way I haven’t been familiar to, in 22 years of my existence.

To others, I am human. Was I anything more than that to him?

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(Him)

I’ve watched people die. I’ve faced the death of others; death of near and dear ones. My heart has ached many times. I remember my heart beating too fast and sometimes, it stopped beating for a moment. I know what loss is. I know what pain is. But, this is different. She is different. Now, I’m facing fear. I don’t want to know what fear is. I can’t lose her when I hadn’t had her completely.

I was there with her. I was there with her on the same street but on the opposite side of the road. I irritated her out of love and she ran to cross the road. I always hold her hand at such times. But, I don’t know what happened to me that time.

I always told her that I don’t like holding hands and then I took her hand in mine several times and kept it for a while. I should have done that every time. I should have held her hand that night too.

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(Her)

People visit me. That’s what people do. People visit patients and brag about more than their existence. People do silly things. I see faces I don’t want to see, I see pretense and hypocrisy, I see the happiness of evil kind and other unwanted emotions.

But, when I see him, I don’t know how to feel. It feels like I’ve forgotten the syllabus of human emotions and the theory of reading faces. Is it true that I’ve forgotten it, or is it that I don’t want to read him? He’s my friend. Of course, I remember! I remember our very first conversation. I asked him if he ever believed in the afterlife. I can recollect the details of that day; the color of his eyes and the expression he wore. I can see myself and him together back then, when I thought to ask him a question wouldn’t matter because it would probably be the first and last time that we’d ever talk. It didn’t matter to me what he thought of me then. I remember us talking and laughing and crying. I have flashes. I have pigments and spotted trails of our memories. How close were we? I don’t know but he’s been here around me for long. Even at the times, I choose not to see anyone, he sees me from outside the window. Maybe, this is how close we would be.

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(Him)

There are so many things to tell her. I want to tell her that I love her. She always said it. She said that she loved me and I replied at times telling her that I did too. I should have just told her by myself, sometime.

If I could talk about anything, I’d talk to her about us. I’d talk about how she believed in promises after I asked her to. I’d talk about the dates we’ve had, the unofficial and the official ones, the way she fits in my arms and how it feels to hold her and have her by my side, holding her waist or in my arms, the times I kissed her forehead, the times our tummies ached by laughing and endlessly hogging, how we’ve had our own song, our own favourite café. I’d tell her stories, the ones that have been our fairytales. And, she like any other child might believe in it for a while. We just don’t know how long the while would last for. Sometimes, she doesn’t want visitors at all. Maybe sometimes she doesn’t want me. I know it’s too much to take in after losing that amount of blood and memory. But, I know she feels something for me too, it is something that we both can’t resist.

She told me she’s scared. She doesn’t know if she’s ready. To be honest, I don’t know if I’m ready either.

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(Her)

I feel like I’ve been made to fall to the ground, I’ve been bled and flesh shaved. I feel like the monster of time has won its game. I feel like the grim reaper fell in love with the miserable me. He felt no pity or empathy and he left me here to rot with half my thoughts and torn memories. I feel cheated. I feel ditched. I feel like the universe hasn’t been fair to me.

I sit with these thoughts all day, all night. I look up my phone and my social accounts and I remember how selectively social I’ve been. I’m finding answers but the places where I’m looking is wrong, the people I ask are the wrong people and the time is definitely a dark one too.

To others, I am human. I am flesh-bodied with organs, blood cells, and a pumping heart. I am a specimen to some, an object of experimentation and a biological exploration. I am human with bones and flesh and a skull above. I am like the other humans. But, I am different to everyone. Everyone I know thinks of me differently and what I think of them or what I ever thought of them, now I’ll never know.

My skull itches and stretches. It aches in a way I haven’t been familiar to, in 22 years of my existence.

To others, I am human. Was I anything more than that to him?

God. I should just talk to him.

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(Him and Her)

When they look at each other, their eyes get lost in one another. It’s like an endless universe and they’re not even spotting stars, they’re just busy being there, holding each other.

They talk lesser in words than they used to. They talk a lot through their smiles though. She asks him about him and her and them together and it aches his heart because he doesn’t really know where to start. But, he gives her personal diary to her and asks if he could stay while she reads it. He thinks to himself, “Now, I know what fear is, too.” And before she feels fear herself, before they explore their relationship and read the diary he kisses her forehead and says, “You know I love you.”
He whispers, “I always have.”

She smiles and says, “I love you, too.”

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To others, I am human. I am flesh-bodied with organs, blood cells, and a pumping heart. I am a specimen to some, an object of experimentation and a biological exploration. I am human with bones and flesh and a skull above. I am like the other humans. But, I am different to everyone. Everyone I know thinks of me differently and what I think of them or what I ever thought of them, now I’ll never know.

My skull itches and stretches. It aches in a way I haven’t been familiar to, in 22 years of my existence.

To others, I am human. To him, I was more than that. To him, I’m much more than that.

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