Your Eyes Are A Proof That Even Graveyards Can Be Beautiful

That day, I knew something was going to be vulnerable.

I shouted at you.

You shouted at me.

But none could be heard with the high volume of our neighbor’s telly.

Your eyes were filled with the colors of Charas or Ganja or Sativa, even I didn’t know.

You asked me to heal them even though I didn’t cause slightest of the wound.

I am not a glue to fix sad men.

I am not a dump yard to collect broken pieces of your heart, carved out by your ex’s absence.

I am not a bedroom replacement for the women who left you.

Neither am I here to stand inside someone else’s shoes to fill your heart with hues of blue.

My flesh has been beautifully blended with my veins and they did not come this far to fall on your mattress.

I am not the soft ends of your earbud.

I am not the warm side of the blanket that you wrap up when you feel cold.

I am not those Saturdays that you eagerly wait for every Friday evening.

Don’t mistake me too for the scented candles on the dinner date. I am much far from such a warm and safe place.

Don’t mistake me for something that you can break and write your past guilt proven stories.

I am much beyond that.

I am relaxed like the ambulances heading home from the Morgue with the satisfaction that there is nothing left for you to kill.

But But But!

I won’t lie to you, because they were the eyes that once made me grow weak on my knees and proved that even graveyards can be beautiful.

Ankita Behera

Ankita Behera is an undergraduate in a bachelor of technology. An amateur writer and a keen nature lover who loves traveling. When asked about life, she says that she is trying to manipulate the truths & realities of her life and weave meaningful stories out of them.