Irreplaceable Things

When I try to contact you, it's not easy.

It doesn't feel right; you're not the person

 I thought you were, thus your name's syllables 

don't seem to make sense;

My throat constrictes, and my mind wonders,

 "Who are you calling?"

When I pump, my feeble, 

tired heart tries to defend itself 

by generating thunder-like electricity.

But it's all messed up.

I'm in more pain than words can describe,

 so I'm not going to try.

 All I know is that I want you to fix it, 

that I...need you to solve it.

How do you not realise there is nothing else that matters?,

How do you think I'm not aware that my attempts 

to punish you through my silence wounded me like a knife?,

How could you be so oblivious to the fact that I'm not feeling well?,

How do you think you don't realise all I want is to be warm?

I attempt to be the bigger person,

 apologising for your faults and making up excuses

 for why it might be my fault, but something about the fact

 that you did it knowing it would hurt me won't let me.

Regardless, I want you to know 

that I need you to come back, that I need you to come home, 

despite the redness in my eyes, 

despite the cold I've picked up from 

the dark corner of my room, despite the nights

 I've spent up trying to solve problems that aren't my own.

Swathi M

Ph.D. Research Scholar

Department of English

Directorate of Distance Education

Kamaraj University

Madurai -625020                   

Email: mercyhelen38@gmail.com