Rift

I am like that creeper that grows on a tree. Tree, being you. I suck my life out of you. Have no roots of my own. And I am this way not because I chose this over the world. But there is no other way I could be. I am a parasite creeper. And my affection for you oscillates between murderous and suicidal.

You know the state of utter shock when you can't find your feet? Detaching from you feels that way. Feetless. It's like destitution. Estrangement is that impoverished nightmarish state, I wouldn't want to dream about even in my dreams. And you want to make it my reality. Hell!

Heartbreak is a disease. Chronic one. Incurable. It eats into strands of muscles, ends of nerves, scrapes off bones, every single moment of the day. They say. But there is nothing we can do about it.

So I appreciate that we're headed nowhere. And unlike all other instances of our lives, I beg you to hold my hands in this one. Give me sometime. A day more, a fortnight, probably a month. Or a li'l more. To let me let you go.

This is no race. I know you're in a hurry, to move on and move beyond. But don't just walk away. Nothing said. Nothing heard. For the sake of whatever was. You could pity me. Or believe I am simply incapable of weaning myself off you.

Let me sleep over this. Hold my hands while I am asleep. Somehow make me realize I can be without you too. Because I know I can't do this on my own. I can't. Or I don't want to. Whatever.

Wait it out till I step across this rift. So that we can walk away from each other.