I get excited easily and,
get disappointed likewise.
The gap between the two
hasn't reduced.
Nor has the emotional
response optimized.
It's as though I've already
developed a fancy about
the journey and the destination
before I could even set foot
on the road.
I have named the cities.
Decorated the houses.
Prepared conversations
that haven't happened.
And assigned meanings
to things that are yet
to exist.
Then, at the first hint
of this house of cards
crumbling, I go sad.
Embarrassingly sad.
As though I haven't
watched this architecture
collapse before,
Only to stand stout
before the next nice thing
again.
The hope in me doesn't learn.
Or perhaps it does,
and simply refuses
to behave accordingly.
It is the same with you,
know that I have already
simulated all the possibilities
that can elevate us,
and all the ways
it cannot go down.
I have run scenarios.
Built futures. Made a little
homes inside my head.
And yet, the moment I
arrive at the actual instance,
the range of expectation,
excitement, desire,
and disappointment
all begin operating
simultaneously.
So whatever it is between us,
it is oddly stretched, torn,
intensely built up again,
and crumbled into dust.
And I speak to you through
this architectural chaos.
So if I fumble a little,
spare it. my words,
before they make it
out of my mouth,
have already carried
furniture up the stairs,
hung photographs on
imaginary walls,
survived a collapse,
and begun rebuilding.
Understand that I do not
travel lightly towards people.
I arrive to you with a
baggage you were never
there to pack.
I arrive with entire cities
already built inside me.
And every time reality
fails to match my expectations,
I quietly evacuate a civilization
that never existed to
mourn it like I had lived
there all my life.