Whatever you see in me is what you have made me

You ask me why I do not write to you. But It’s been days I have been trying to write to you. You, my beloved darling, are the one I hide at the remote corners of my heart and watch you grow inside me, say how can I write to you? Should I write about the pain that is killing every day of mine after you have burned my soul ? Should I write about the fractures your absence caused in my room, the place where I hide your non-existence? Should I write about the cold face of the night I cuddled in everynight as if it were you? My beloved darling, you know I got hooked up with your heart and now you must say what I should tell to you.

You are not in here now but I know you hear me. Close your eyes and please listen to your heart for me. Now that you are gone; your abscence is a cold, dark, starless night for me … Your abscence is what you have left with me… and some pictures … I cry over them when I look at them to sooth myself. Your abscence is your letters you have written to me with your own hands and some saddening poems you have scribbled … your abscence is your messages you have sent in secrecy , the messages in which you have sent your heart. Now close your eyes and take a look at me. Whatever you see in me is what you have made me. So, say what should I tell to you …

I remember your leaving me one night withot a warning … and then, along time later, your coming back in tears and with screams in your heart. Your anger against life has mounted up. You thought the ones you said you loved dearly would be on your side. But when you realized it was nothing but a false presumption, you would come to me with your shy eyes saying “help me.” I was mad about you but you saw me as a harbour to shelter yourself only when you were heart broken or hurt. Even if I knew it, I would open my arms for you. You remained distant and told me about your loves with their eyes not on you ,but on others.

Broken hearted, I would watch you in surprise. Maybe in fatherly compassion, I would listen to you. You would tell me about the pain you were living through, about the wounds opened in your heart, and about the hopelessness in your face, then you would sob until your eyes were swollen. I would relieve your wounds without hesitation … and then you would leave without a warning. You would not even say you were going away. You would just leave me behind in a cold night, with my eyes resting in the distance and broken hearted.You would leave me behind along with my love, my madness and with my spirit always a rebellion and alieanated to this life. Me the one who cuddled up with night imagining it were you, me the one who felt the cold breath of the death at his neck, me the one whose eyes nailed to the ceiling and you would leave me behind with my new wounds you made on me. You would leave me behind when fires inside me was turning into ashes. Say what I should tell you my beloved darling, whatever you see in me is what you have made me.

As for me, I would remain silent … Things would pile in me more and more and I would remain silent because I could never hurt you. But on the other hand, I would write to you in pages. I would write letters where I hid my love and my heart at every line. Never sending them to you, I would pile them all. Just because I respected you and your life and your choices, I just didn’t , but rather couldn’t, send them. No matter what, I remained silent for your happiness. You left me behind whereas I became the one who prayed for your happines, and I remained silent.

Now close your eyes and listen to me because I can dare to say it just for once: love is not something what you carry on face but the deep wound you carry in your heart, my darling … and that wound is the medal you would wear with pride until the end of time. That wound is the one’s own self. That wound is the hope one grows for love. But you, for no good reason, loved the ones who were even crueler than life. You left me behind without hope, without breath, without you … You again left me behind broken and alone in the death inviting dark alleys of a cold city which was alien to me. The rebellion inside me was beating me inside only to bleed my own heart. Yours is not love but egoism. Our love was not swept away with your freedom but with storms … Among the tides of your fears, your wounded past, your carefree life, you lost me again and again and then found me. I healed my wounds with my love for you … For all the values I was truly attached to about life and love, I paid the price almost with my life. Now that the questions slowly meet with the answers, I know that nothing will break that persistence love in me. And that “illegal smile” in my heart will never fade away … You have been wanting me to write to you again for days, now tell me my beloved darling, what should I tell you.

Doğan ORMANKIRAN