Finding forgiveness and glamour in the backseat.

I’m sitting in the backseat of a stranger’s car. I look at the reflection of my face on my phone screen. My irises cant find themselves in the ocean of tears that the walls of my kohled eyes are holding. I realise who I became. In a wind of a turn , my hair smells like another lifetime , a summer, I ate tangerine and wore cotton kurtis and my hair tied and soothed into a loose braid by my grandmother . I wonder if he noticed the change in air, did he know I was kind before I had my claws , I was gentle and soft before my eyes dug deeper into my skull? In the next turn, my head resting on the window , eyes in the sky , I realise who I did not become . Alone in the backseat of the car , the leather sticking to my skin trying to sooth my lonely mad. My skin is tearing at the seams for the mistress I was, for the tragedy I kept dressing myself in.

The city begged me to love it a little lesser. Maybe go home less lonelier . Him looking at the mirror at the reflection to meet my heartache . I’m feeling glamorous, I feel the city licking my feet. I snarl , I growl, throw my hair back in glory of being alone. I lay down on my back , my legs out the window and my lips start humming a song that could’ve been mistaken for a cry for forgiveness and he’s falling in love with the thickness of the poetry of this hot summer night. I ask him to drive me home. what I really meant is to drive me out, away from this city, away from my mother who breaks her chest every time I come home with a bruise on my heart and from  my father who can tell I smell like too many sins. Drive me straight into a tree, a burning building  a falling bridge. Drive me into thinking I’m most beautiful when I’m lonely, a lone wolf howling for forgiveness at the moon for the dark it carries.

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