You scream freedom for the fifth time this month
How many more before the month runs out?
You dream only of the love you will never attain
You go back on your word and promises to yourself
You only know how to love her, that girl
The one with the questions in her eyes
And the quiver in her voice
You know nothing else
Neither redemption nor salvation
Because somehow loving her is all you learnt to know
Loving her is all you wish to know
But you lie to yourself hurt after hurt that its over
But we know better
We’re all waiting for this storm to subside before you begin another.
The day my parents died, I knew.
I barely ever sleep at night due to my ever present insomnia, but that night was different. I wasn’t exactly tired but TV wasn’t doing it for me that night and I hadn’t updated my book collection, so sleep was the next best thing. It was unbelievable how easily the sleep came, and how that time it wasn’t dreamless. The dream happened in flashes, I can’t remember it coherently, because no one ever does, but I remember waking up and feeling scared. I remember seeing my mom and dad lying there motionless, and watching their auras rise from them. The last thing I remember seeing was my sister crying, and I couldn’t stand that defeated image of her.
Two weeks after.
My parents had to leave the house early to catch their afternoon flight, so the goodbyes were pretty much brief and breezed through. I hadn’t forgotten the dream, but I just didn’t know how to stop it. My sister couldn’t care less about anything I said, she thinks I’m a pest. It’s evening and I’m trying to have a conversation with her, but she’s too busy typing away on her phone. She eventually shuts me up, and tells me to go warm the stew for dinner. I could hear the buzz of the TV from the kitchen. I scoop the frozen stew into the saucepan as my sister laughs at something. I have a bad feeling in my stomach as I place the pan on the burner. There’s a loud gasp and she goes:
“Oh my God Toke, there’s been a plane crash”.
My heart stops and I don’t feel it start again. I’m there staring at the melted reddish orange of the stew turn a dark red and then brown, and I wonder if my life will transition in steady stages. The stew thickens but I keep stirring it; its the only thing I could do to not pass out. Maybe concentrating deeply on this will eliminate everything else from happening.
“Maybe if I stirred hard enough…” I think.
My sister’s phone rings, a few seconds pass then the scream. I knew.