Ripples of your Words

By Rehema

Even though we spoke about it last time, I have this feeling at the pit of my stomach that our conversation ended so rapidly and prematurely. That those words which came out of my mouth were not in any way congruent with my brain and perhaps. Perhaps that’s why you recognized the cracks in my voice. The questions that fell as tears. The pain that came out as sighs other times occasioned as groans. The words that came out as chunks as though I was afraid of them. Thus, out of emotional necessity to break this silence between us, I begin to write to you.

I write to you because I cannot subdue this anguished longing to talk to you. My wanting is reflected in the language of my soul. It is visible in the moulding of my hands, the drooping of my eyelids and the lines of my mouth. Often it makes me want to cringe but that is just about it, for this is what my soul demands of me. It’s that thing about being victimized by the body if we fail to listen it. Hence, it behoves me to externalise my misgivings somehow. To express it to you in order to take away it’s terror however minuscule it may be.

And so l write to tell you that the past few days have been heavy. I began worrying again so that every other night I sleep badly. That the unforseen storm that had long been lurking on the surface finally erupted and now it’s rage has me thrusted to the very bottom of a dark pit. Where I cannot help but watch my beingness being stripped as it gets snatched away from me. Where I am forcefully carved in isolation since solitude that has always suggested relief to me has come to weary and devastate me. Where I slam the doors of my feelings holding them in my heart because this once I have lost the urge to discuss it with you, for this company that has since offered me reprieve has come to oppress and crush me.

Hence, I have grown to keep my solitary agonies hidden, carefully locked in my breasts leaving no traces to be exposed. Such that when I remember your words telling me not to give up just yet, I feign innocent optimism by wearing a cheerful face. For seemingly there is another possibility that does not escape, though it would be a great disappointment to have it confirmed and that is the probability that I may already be dead inside. All these I do, so as not to maim or marr you with my pain. Whereby I resort to keep you pure from being sullied in any way by my pretence. This I do, to spare you the agonizing thoughts that would otherwise wring you when you find out that all your efforts to tread this yard with me, have been futile to impart me with full strength and comfort.

So that as I stay in this solemn spot, thoughts struggle to seek me and as I delve in them deeper I awaken more questions to which upon trying to find answers, I tramp upon contradictions where I realize that the fountain of my misery may as well be nothing. For logic fails to make sense to me anymore. It tells me that fate has convicted me unjustly and I have got to make all these misfortunes right with me. It tells me to affirm that my life right now is one long funeral procession where time cannot progress it but rather revolve around this specific centre of pain. Well, could it be that I am so engrossed in my agony to a point I have become blind to notice even one single perilous moment of happiness in the variations of this monotonous sting?

But need I confess this to you. I do not know how you do it but I am always amazed at how you find the right words for me. Words that calm my agitation. That even though they may not disentangle me from the necessity of worrying, just talking to you unburdens the load in my chest making it unnecessary to worry. Thus, in the midst of this abrasion that life is continuously throwing at me in the moment, I create space for you in my confusion because no one understands how freeing it is to let someone in to try. Nonetheless, I am scared that you being with me in this wild realm, helping me find balance, may resort to you bearing my entire weight should there be a sudden fall and this is why lately I am learning to refrain from constantly seeking you.

So that as I grapple with these chaos because life lessons are not done with me yet, I do not rely on my intuition. My intuition cannot anchor me for I cannot tell if they are true and it’s in this moment that I remember your words. It is your words that appear to me in form of feelings. It is their energy that lightens my blurry vision to a point of clarity. Where I surrender myself to the openness of experience. Where I am made to embrace stillness in the midst of my upheaval. Where I am allowed to pause and breath for a deeper understanding of my struggles. It is your words that carry with it meaning and direction in my darkness. These words that spark the last ember of hope within me. These words that remind me to lean back and give in to life trials and navigate it’s wrath by flowing and not fighting.

It is me recalling your words that tell me to allow things be the way they are. To experience the exteriority of the violence this pain has to offer. To witness it taking place without too much glance of it. To agree with the beauty that is there without trying to alter it into something else. Yes! it’s your words I remember. Of you telling me that I am a strong woman and that I will pass through this phase successfully. However, I must say that at times I reckon with these words. That I imagine you have put me on a pedestal where you have elevated me to a place I do not deserve. But this cannot be true because these same words have buoyed me when days have proven to be tumultuous with immense discomfort.

Therefore, on the days of the soul like this, they have made me brave. This is because they have met me with empathy, an understanding so deep such that when self doubt tries to sabotage my mind. When I become busy minimising my struggles and micromanaging my own becoming, it is these words that have continued to jolt me back to reality. They have taught me to see my storm as a gift. To gift myself pain in order to heal my wounds. To gift myself the art of being alone and in doing so, I have rediscovered my peace and serenity. For as it is, there is no utterance of your thoughts that have felt out of place . There is no single word that poured out of your lips that seemed alienated or disimilar to my sorrow.

Hence, I have tucked your words, embalmed with your love for me in my heart. I keep them there as a secret debt that I am glad to think I can never possibly repay. So that when wisdom fails me. When I am run through with disaster and I am weary, drained and defeated. It is the memory of your words that unseal for me the consolation I need. Reminding me that your love for me will always echo in all my dimensions and that I will always feel a part of you with me even in your absence.

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