ANHEDONIA
I felt no warmth while holding your hands.
They used to be soft, light, and hot.
Now they were only full of holes and
the cold tinsel that you named tears.
You lacked happiness and consoled yourself in restlessness,
right above me. You asked me to be close.
I was.
Even though I was lost,
in this beehive that is my mind,
without thoughts
and decisions are covered in emotions.
Without holding focus on anything or anyone.
You asked me to hold your hand at the end of the night
just to be able to feel yourself whole, to feel something.
And amidst all this anhedonia, we saved each other.
Paper submarines, I thought;
This salvation is like a paper submarine.
At some point, it will break, and we will drown,
but the reality is that I would be alone, fallen.
Your breasts held by your bra,
your linen shirt traveled across your skin,
brushing every hair and taking care of you.
And I was your pillar of peace. Is there anyone for me?
I worried about you so much that I didn't worry
if I worried you. I trusted myself so little
that trusting you a little would be common.
You were the cycle passing through my mind,
reviving, murdering everything of me.
I told myself, I must not have you, I can't,
I will hurt you; I know you won't hurt me.
You weren't interested enough to make me suffer.
And I wasn't interested enough to listen to myself and flee.
What am I to you? What are we?
I asked myself every night before sleep.
You fell to the floor, and you still had your bra holding your breasts,
your striped shirt covering your body, many burning gazes
to take care of you and give you comfort. My heart made for you was there.
But the reality is that you hadn't needed me for a while,
pickled like a sad, forgotten gherkin in the fridge.
You stole my flavor, my heat, and now that you have plenty,
only snow surrounds me—what your photographs are—
Your cold face and my heart are fighting to beat.
But I was falling, and I had nothing to hold onto,
my socks torn, my ankles swollen,
laughter in between. The innate chaos fisherman.
To seek help in your soul is to run aimlessly,
while trying to find a frozen spot in
the midday sun. That joy that sways you.
That which I lack.
All that was left for me was to crumble
and rise in the nuance of solitude.
On a sad carpet,
a couple of cigarettes, and my soul.
The meaning of life vanished, and
absence became a welcoming place.
Not as much as the twilight that once
settled upon your hips.
Or your breasts so perfect and your laughter,
your knuckles, your wrists,
Perhaps your way of getting ready
mingling with your dolls.
I searched for warmth, but only you
delivered it and snatched it away
whenever you could.
There was an instant that ceased to be so;
It is being consumed by the dark,
the blue of my tears that I could not process.
The scent of sweet honey vanished, and there was no exit
in this emergency. My feet black from
the darkness that sleeps inside me.
My eyes were tired in a tie and a suit.
I sit by an airplane window,
I feel it is time to fly without luggage.
Perhaps I’ll go so fast I can kiss the clouds
and taste the flavor of freedom without makeup.
Just when I am shattered, but
Trying to move on, you appear again.
Your return created turbulence in me,
a tremor in the chest and a storm in the head.
By the time you convinced yourself to help me,
because you needed help from the only
person you said knew you—
that bra, that shirt, that joy,
that peace, that scent, that feeling you brought
had vanished in time.
And between the minutes and seconds,
I had disappeared.
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ANHEDONIA
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