when i think of us i think of all the phases of love we’ve been through
like a fisherman’s love for the sea, how he looks at it from a distance,
how the sea calls for him & holds him, the continuous foregathering &
dispersion of the water near his feet, the space between them snapping
down within seconds, the space between the moments where in the sea’s love,
the fisherman decides to drown or not. if he decides to kiss the sea,
he’d learn how to love again, what it might feel like to dream about
someone’s lips too much, if he decides to turn his back despite the sea
locking its legs around his body, he’d sit in a detached state leaking
teardrops in his sink-like metacarpus “we’re burned into each other’s
DNA”, he’d say. the sea also laments “i still find myself wishing you’d
show up at my door”, where the fisherman offers his side of hurt, this is a
blue discourse which no one understands, both figuring out what home means
to a pained heart, if not each other’s arms, is this it, is this the anatomy of
love? i think, the parting of the lovers seem like the pebbles by the beach
being picked up by a toddler & never returned, a colossal damage towards
destruction. yet, each time the fisherman turns his back at the sea,
he comes again, his love for other things torn apart by a pair of
generational scissors, the sea stitches his running heart, lets the fisherman
stroll to its very ends, forgetting that the fisherman is here only till money
fills his pockets. “your sorrow tastes the sweetest when you’re with me”,
perhaps, the sea loves the fisherman wholeheartedly, more than
he will ever love it.
Tanisha Handa, who loves who more
