i always wanted to be numb about my distant love. distant love means distant love. no messenger or phone call helps. but the year- old smells, streets you fell for, long conversations, journeys, books, songs, movies, love for things old stays. common love for the planet stays. photographic memories of all these stays. appreciation stays. arguments stays. voices echoes. scenes repeats. replay of things. you know that nothing can help you. you know that the more you think the more you bleed, and you never want to be meek. the pictures you drew on that distant wall, the things you snatched from him like a kid, the strange vulnerability that overrules you when you meet him, all these make you feel stupid. but objects carry people than anything. at the same time you think that there are cruel sorrows other than love. yours is a better life. you think of enraged poetry you read till the last night. you find poetry more powerful than ever.you clean up things, you wash your clothes with single bucket of water which is scarce. you fall down on the wet floor. you got purple marks here and there.
you find yourself even more in pain. but you know pain is something else, pain is somewhere else. now, you just need a drop of numbness-that you already have.