Writing

Slow Dance With Rain on a Highway

chungkingexpress

You are driving to your
hometown and it is raining and I am
standing in the skin of it, and i wonder if it
is raining over your car, and if it is, I
wonder if you have forgotten the road, the
trees, the traffic,
I wonder if you have
climbed onto your bonnet, spread your arms
out and tried to catch pieces of the sky in
your hands. I slept with thunderclouds
drifting across my face, I could see their
shadows sweeping the walls, all night, it
felt like I was in your room, all night, the
windows opened, my clothes
lying on your bed,
and on the floor, our books
scattered across the table, and our lips
touching over and over and over. Your
fingers learn to become ships, my skin
learns to become waves, and you search for
my heartbeat, and I
let you;
This morning, i tried to
make my tea the way you do, so I put two
spoons of sugar instead of one, and it tasted
nothing like you, but I wanted it to. I
wanted to tell you that some nights I dream
that you are being buried and no one
has told you, some nights I dream that I am
letting my hands move along me, the way
they’ve always wanted to, and no
one has told you,
the silence hangs heavy with my
name and your name, always entwined,
always trying to whisper I’m sorry, and by
I’m sorry, I mean I don’t remember why
it has to be this way, and by I’m sorry, I
mean, who do you think you are? and by
I’m sorry, I mean, when you
leave,

I will be standing on this bridge and
I will watch my wrists fall from my arms
and you will not want them, so I put them
back, wrong hands, wrong skin, still you’ll
say you want me anyway, but there is this
space, always this space between us, but
you can’t feel it so I stand on the bridge, it
doesn’t even feel like a bridge anymore, I
stand on it
and I watch the river pass me by and
I scream your name into it, but I am left
with the taste of you on my tongue, so I
watch the river pass me by and I throw my
tongue into it but I am left with the beat of
you in my chest. By I’m sorry, I mean
I can’t get away from you, by I’m sorry, I
mean I am not here
by choice.
And you are in your car and
you are driving to your hometown, and you
are inside your body, and I am inside my
body and nothing matters at all.

By Deeksha Verender

About Deeksha:
Deeksha Verender, 19, is a Psychology student currently residing in Bangalore. She likes poetry, tea and has a slightly unhealthy obsession with potted plants. Writing is an extremely important part of her life, and is something that has stayed with her for many years. For more of her work, you can find her on instagram at @deekshaverender.

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Photograph is a still from Chungking Express (1994) dir. Wong-Kar wai.

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