5 reasons why I must leave you… even though you say you love me

A poet’s decision

1. Your love is largely understated

As n when you can, a time available kinda affair. There’s a slot for me. Which I compliantly fit into. Moments of recluse, nothingness, peace of mind or what you term as when, ‘I’m free.’ Which is further filtered to the time you actually get after you unwind, rest n relax — what do you call that? Oh! Yes… the quintessential, I need my space! Obviously, I therefore am mostly out of sight and out of mind as let’s face it, in today’s times firstly those moments of solitary serenity are few and far between. Add to it the sifting process and you’ve bestowed me with a few minutes of an afterthought before the manic of life takes over again.

As a result my love is mostly overstated.

Frequent and frantically insecure attempts to keep me on your mind. Regardless of whether I’m free or not. I make the time. Take the time to stop in the dead middle, (beginning or end) of any kinda day. Just to let you know that I exist. We exist. Hoping to catch you in your ‘free time.’ 

Other times, unconsciously trying to show by example that love is beyond the right time. It’s about being there every time. Anytime. Through all times. It is in fact in the chaos of life that love can calm the most. As well as provide the magical thrill to an otherwise mundane day. 

Like a sugar rush, love has super powers.

Yet mine seems like an overdose. One which you dodge and regulate. I’m drained off my mojo. 

As a poet this is an essential ingredient of my survival.

2. Your valid reasons reek of missing inclination.

To all of your 101 reasons not to call, text or meet me all I can say is when there is a will, there is a way. 

Furthermore, when there is a will, lovers make a way. 

Love is the spur. The medal at the end of the finish line. Lovers don’t only meet to stop and smell the roses. They run the obstacle race, the triathlon, the 100m dash, whatever it takes to stay together, close at heel, soul to soul. 

As a result your explanations are often met with over the top emotional outbursts. 

Effort. Initiative. Attention. Validation. Prioritization. Mere reciprocity are the words that come to mind. 

And after having been with you through thick and thin. Walked the extra mile. Bent backwards. And forwards. And in all ways, always reliable…

Ready. 

On call. 

On text. 

On eye contact. 

On instinct. 

On a vibe.

On a sixth sense

Enough. No more. I cannot omit pieces of me to make you comfortable. Like it doesn’t matter. Like it’s ok. When it’s clearly not. After years of having done this and living with no expectations, I now have forgotten how to respond. I simply react. I cry. I snap. I yell, shout and scream. I dramatize. I patronize. 

Above all, I realize.

I realize — this — this is not me. Like a fish out of water, I feel out of character. 

This is not my truth. 

As a poet my truth is my triumph. My truism is my strength — my USP. 

3. Your words fall short.

Words are magical. They can as well make you feel elated, appreciated, cherished and loved mostly in as little as just three words. 

Yet, there are none between us. No cliché words. No creative declarations. No candid affection. No dirty talk, no pure revelations. 

So typically mine as well go unrecognized. No reply. While I muse the shit out of you — you remain unimpressed. Uninterested. And indifferent. 

Occasionally your stingy me too’s to my abundant I love you’s make intimate conversations. Apart from that my love life is generally a monologue. 

As a result I have none left.

Off late, I have nothing to say. I have resigned to a silent death. A deadly silence. Trapped in muteness, I find myself at a loss for words. Like my words don’t matter. Like I don’t matter. 

As a poet, I cannot let this happen. It’s only words. Words are all I have. 

4. Your actions speak louder than your words.

Missing in words. Acceptable. Missing in action too. Unacceptable. 

Your random appearances between your constant disappearances are exhausting. You are just never there when I want to share my dreams, my life or just my day. The pining for you, the aching, wanting, waiting has slowly but surely been replaced with an emptiness on some days. And bitterness on others. Your presence now only highlights your absence. Like just when I get used to living without you, there you are, a reminder of a remnant love I want to learn to live without. 

Your white lies, lame excuses, lack of enthusiasm to make amends and my willingness to believe anything you say just to save the day is pitiful. Inconsistency defines our relationship. It plays mind games. Messes with my heart. I cannot function normally.

As a result I have trust issues.

Roses are no longer red. They carry a different hue. And violets are far from blue. Love is a myth — never true. 

I now doubt everything you say, do, hell I even doubt my thoughts, my beliefs, my ability to love and be loved. 

As a poet I am in love with love. Transcendental love. There is a fine line between reality and fantasy. I live both with conviction. I can walk the line for you and soar the clouds with you.

You take away either and you have left me with a broken identity and a damaged soul.

5. Your love is mediocre

There are too many mediocre things in life. Just average. Our love cannot be one of them. 

I cannot live with ordinary. I crave extra ordinary. I never wanted something good or good enough. Rational. Practical. I want crazy. A can’t sleep, can’t breathe, can’t live without your love kinda feeling. 

I want your whole life, I want to give you all of my lifetimes.

I want butterflies in my stomach and fire in your belly. I want to then be water and flow into you. Douse you with desire. Melt into your hard spots. Soften you, fill you up with tenderness until we breathe love like we breathe air.

But this is merely poetry, I hear you say. 

As a result my madness remains misunderstood.

You see the poetry, do you not see the poet? 

For one is the echo of the other. Like conjoint twins, we co exist. 

Regardless of you then I choose to keep my madness. I’ll stay with it, hang on to it and hold on to it for dear life.

This craziness is what keeps me alive.

As a poet that is why I must leave you. Consider me gone.

5 lessons I learned from my mother

I AM...

I was a fat chubby kid. I’m told I was insistently naughty. I mostly got my way. My elder brother, I’m sure disliked that and yet loved me insatiably to usually give in or let go. I begged to be carried all the time and my mother obeyed even when she was dog tired after a hard day at work. Her arms somehow always found the strength to bear my tantrums and my weight.

I learned that true strength comes from within.

Growing up I was a rebel of sorts. When I wanted something I wanted it anyhow. My mother would advise me. She showed me right from wrong. Often she warned me in a stern voice and not used to it I’d relentlessly sulk until she gave in. She loved me enough to caution me and yet she stood by me when I made my mistakes. Along life’s trials and tribulations she gave me her hand to hold, her shoulder to cry; she even gave me her spine when I couldn’t stand on my own. On instances when I’d sob or cry she would be most anxious, she’d immediately hug and kiss me. Unable to make me stop at times, along with me she’d secretly cry.

I learned how to give and receive unconditional love.

In my teens, she worked harder only to give in to my every whim and fancy. She bought me clothes, shoes and handbags. She always indulged in my vanity as I pruned and preened in front of the mirror. Sometimes I’d sneak in a hundred or two from her purse, of which I guess she always knew. Yet not once did she say she didn’t have enough or never did she lock her handbag away. When I implored to be allowed out at night, she’d reluctantly persuade my father to let me go. Then she’d stay up right until she heard me at the door. Often I’d break my curfew time, for which I always had a (not so) valid reason. Invariably she’d believe me and worriedly she'd plead, please don't be late, be punctual next time. Like a beacon of purity, she always encouraged that good or bad, I tell her the truth at all times.

I learned honesty and trust.

Through the years she continued to pray for us all. I remember watching her bow her head in prayer, morning, noon and night. Playfully, I emulated her in prayer and she’d look at me and smile. When faced with hard times, I noticed she prayed even more. Leave it to God, she’d say, and then peacefully let go. Seeing her firm belief in the Lord, I have my own unwavering relationship with God.

I learned to have faith.

She inspired me to study further. She rejoiced when I got my first job. She took pride in my every small accomplishment. She made big of my every achievement. By example, she motivated me to always come away having given it my all. Along life’s path, I failed a few times. I made a few wrong choices, I paid some heavy prices. Dejected, I’d pour my heart out to her. Regardless of what time, she’d always give me her listening ear. You are the best, she’d say at the end. Don’t worry; there will be better, there will be more.

I learned to believe in myself.

Today, I have my own family. Others that call me their own. My mother is older now, a little frail and a lot wiser now. We talk, we share; we are best friends now. Gratefully then, I will pass on her legacy as I continue to grow as an individual and see my spirit soar.

For mom, know this… You are - So I am. 

Dedicated to my mother, Shireen. It is rightfully said that motherhood has the greatest potential influence on human life.

www.tasneemkagalwalla.com