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Hyderabad

A Collaboration

Hyderabad: 4 January 2022: You speak my love language so well–like from your core, down to my soul, and in ways, I could hardly translate. Like it's never in my dreams someone out there would write about me, and send them to me without reticence, making my soul dance. And as if you know how the hopeless romantic in me wanted to be danced and kissed under fireworks, or just by the bay on a moonlit night. And the way you take care of me when I am sick too– I never knew I was delicate until you held me. I am winning in life, that's for sure.
But what if after all these things that you did for me, and that if ever things won't pan out in ways we planned and we wanted to– I'd still have to ask you, "Have you loved me?" And you'd nod with so much reassurance in your eyes. But I'd still go on, "Really?". As if I never felt loved or you never made me happy.
You see, overthinking overpowers me every day, so I'm expressing my apology in advance.
–eunoia, Words We Should've Said
Perhaps this is the way you are. I kiss you in your mother tongue that was questioning all the surreal things as if they were too real for you. Mundane things reside in your eyes, you traced our hands hoping for misalignment, that maybe... maybe this isn't ours, or so. You were fond of signs because you couldn't trust yourself; stars above that were so promising, tarots on the ground pretending to be polaroids of our fate and such. All these, but Honey? I never told you, I feel the same.
Some poets argued that we were promised to the marigolds, some to the whispers in shrines, and some to the unseen part of the moon. I don't know about them, and as much as this scares me, in tension and collapse chest, I'd still want this, and no reverse card can ever dictate my heart to go away, stars can go die, and gods, please let this be.
This is no promise, but in love letters and tragedies, we would say, amen. Come, my love. We're gonna be more than fine.
—mj zyke

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