by Komal Kapoor
For all the badasses reluctant to show their soft side—you are not alone.
There is this myth that showing emotions is a sign of weakness, a myth I believed for many years. This book is my way back to my feelings. To be comfortable with them, around them, in them. May it help you embrace yours as well.
And to anyone who struggles to talk about love and heartbreak, I hope you find the power in your vulnerability. It is okay to feel something; there is even strength in it.
Is this how you remember our story too?
No swiping
No height lies
No tiger pics
No bio quips
Our encounter was
the stuff of urban myths:
an In Real Life sitch.
We met under the desert sky,
strangers among friends
your gaze rested on me
too long for it to be a friendly hi
the sky turned crimson
reading your lingering thoughts
the sun slipped away, so sly
knowing the night is when
lovers unite
stars giggled down
whispering about our fates
finally aligned
I sat, staring up
and you, you only stared
at me that night.
No wait-three-days rule afoot
You call, not text
and I think finally
I’ve found myself
a modern romantic,
someone I could even
make mine.
.
.
.
Or, are you just a friend?
Most people are imitations
of their idols
of favorite characters—
forever editing their lives
to fit an ideal.
Not you:
you are your own being
unaltered, untainted.
You notice things
about me
I did not think
were worth noting.
We hang like friends
and kiss like lovers
I want to know:
what are we?
On a trip away,
your phone battery died.
You added me on Facebook
to make sure I knew why
you hadn’t replied.
I wonder maybe,
we have something here,
you and I.
You say my name
and I finally know
what it means
to come undone.
I am no good at jokes:
despite off-delivery, and
references too vague,
you laugh every time
looking into my eyes
making me feel seen
for the first time in my life.
You are
my favorite
notification.
You have turned me into a cliché:
I check if you’re online
a dozen times a day
lol at your Snaps
{you’d be such an entertaining date}
and wonder if you tweet about me
or is there some other pizza-loving bae?
Fear and courage, love and lust
feel the same.
Tingling, heart clenching
how to tell, which is what?
I hope
you never
think of
someone else
while you
kiss me.
Lay down your armor
I’ve cast mine aside
out of these confines
I feel larger, stronger
won’t you join me
in this vulnerability?
Let us be true to ourselves
and get to know
each other tonight.
The closer
you try to get
the harder
I’ll push you away.
I don’t want you to go,
you say.
I feel my doubts
melt away.
You want to make me breakfast?
you ask.
My sincerity puzzles you
and it unquiets my heart to know
you have never been loved before.
We love inexpertly
in whispers and gushes
fragments and bursts
never sure
how much to give
never sure
how to take.
You created us
a Netflix profile
naming it our own
version of Brangelina.
You have a quality about you
a gravity,
your eyes dare me to look away
knowing I won’t, I can’t
because when you look at me
nothing else exists.
Thought fragments
flash images
and a sudden rush
thundering
in my chest
as the air turns heavy
like impending rain.
The feeling of you
l i n g e r s
leaving me electrified
for days.
I felt your absence
before I met you
as one misses stars
in a dark night sky—
knowing they are there,
wishing they’d appear.
Saturday night dates
are easy to find
but I want only you
on Sunday mornings.
Weave your fingers with mine
let me rest my head on your chest
stroke my hair and tell me
all your dreams and fears;
let me see your darkness
and I’ll show you mine.
We haven’t known each other for long
it is probably too early to say
I love you
{but what is love, if not this?}
I tell you I want to know you more,
when I really mean
I no longer want a life
without you in it.
But that would probably scare you.
Instead I ask
where you grew up, ask
about your siblings,
we talk about how much
you miss your mother.
I want to tell you I love you
but maybe it’s not the time.
I hope when you look in my eyes,
the way only you know how to,
you see my soul pouring out.
In all my things said, unsaid,
what I really mean to say is
don’t ever go.
It’s rather risqué, isn’t it;
how deeply embedded
you are in my thoughts.
The days have grown
too long
as I wait to see you
and the nights, well
I have never met shorter nights.
The moon must be on strike
or maybe
no amount of time is enough
/> when I am with you.
Love is relativity and time travel
distortion and dilation
it is when the 1440 minutes in a day
are not all the same length
most are useless
but the few spent with you
are tiny infinities.
In a world
that no longer pauses
to listen to the whispers of a soul
you found songs
I didn’t know I held within me.
In a starless night, your smile is the moon
as I look within your eyes of purple hue
I see universes of us, in dimensions anew
it seems against the laws of nature
to have a mortal as impeccable as you
we search and search,
to explain body and soul
yet I found you, an irrational whole.
Are you real or a fevered dream;
will you disappear, as I catch my bravery?
Is reality better
or the digital us?
Are you better
or the idea of you?
The thing about love is,
it cannot be ignored.
I can pretend it is
anger, resentment,
jealousy, fear.
I can call it
by different names
but it is here,
as undeniable as the soft pulsing
of blood through my veins.
I feel like someone else
when I am with you
a better someone
a softer me.
As I sit beside you,
coffee warming my hands
your words heating my heart,
my walls disintegrate.
I think I may be
falling in love
with you.
My laughter
tastes different with you;
it pours out like a high waterfall
crashing strong,
words land heavy
between gasps;
it is not an elegant laugh
but I don’t care.
You like me messy
so I allow myself to spill over;
these unfiltered moments
are how I measure our love.
Growing up,
love felt like a superstition
a fantasy I should not
indulge in.
Then you came along
providing me faith in something
I had given up on.
If they ask me, What is love?,
all I can say is, you.
For when we met,
it finally made sense
what others meant
when they spoke of love.
My love is
not a blooming flower
for that shall die too soon
nor is it an ocean fickle
with its affair with the moon
it is not a deeply rooted tree
for they can lie decaying too.
This love of mine is like matter
abundant, ever-present
the kind that cannot be
created nor destroyed
and as this love shifts
its energy to you
treat it gently for
it is pure,
it is true.
I strive every day
to see you as you are,
not as you should be.
In the hours of deepened dusk,
you reek of loneliness
and the burdens of this flesh
as twilight lengthens endlessly
it feels tomorrow may never arrive
there is an urgency in your melancholy
for if death were to visit, it would surely be tonight
alone in these late-night hours when time stands still
your cries of love come tumbling out,
you feel alive at last, flesh on flesh triumphs all.
But what love is that which is born in despair?
Instead, love me in the morning light,
with a fresh promise and hope ahead
when all seems possible, senses erect
in the glory of a new day, love me right.
You are
heartbreaking
and breathtaking
in the sorrows you fight.
I see your faults;
but for the first time
they are not an excuse
to run away.
As you trace figures on my back
I close my eyes and
forget the stresses that gnaw at me
our silence is lavish
glimmering with understanding
you know every etch on my soul.
For the first time, maybe ever,
the storm in my chest softens to a hum
words racing through my brain
turn into wisps of air
as our heartbeats slowly sync,
you settle my turmoil.
You are my
I-wake-up-and-think-of-you
love.
In spaces between breaths
ends of unfinished sentences
stopped at red lights
cruising through greens
loading new Netflix episodes
stirring honey in tea
gazing into eyes
reminiscent of your blues
you steal moments away from me;
I am yours in ways
you do not know
and I give you everything,
willingly.
You will always be safe with me,
you say.
Every night we untie
the knots of situations
put salve on cuts from the day—
no nick too small,
no wound too hideous.
Every morning we prepare
for our circumstances—
with you, I do so with hope.
Some days,
I just cannot face the world alone.
Love me like the ocean loves the shore
sometimes hard, sometimes gentle
retreating a bit to let her breathe
but never too far, never for long.
It was not until I met you
that I understood
I had never been in love before.
My love might be
hard to hear
but I promise
it is here.
How exquisite it is
to have someone want to chase
every thought
meander around each memory lane
and make a home in my brain.
I want to be your favorite book
the one you read over and over again
take me off the shelf, wear me out
{don’t worry, I have a strong spine}
understand my heartbreaks
stain me with your tears
dog-ear your favorite bits
take notes, memorize details
read between my lines
find new meaning every time
make me your favorite book,
because you are mine.
Do you feel it too?
We have such a connection,
you say.
Yes, it scares me
how similar we are,
I reply.
We wer
e sipping tea, watching rain fall
when you whispered above the storm,
Aristotle believed the sound of thunder
was the clash of two clouds.
That may have been when
I fell in love with you.
Or maybe it was our sunrise walks
turning this night owl chipper at dawn.
People say, Don’t let someone change you,
but how can we not change
with every encounter
every relationship
every love?
We take a bit of someone
give a bit of us away.
I have changed since your love
and I like
who I have become.
In the clouds
and tea leaves,
the ink blots
and tarot cards
all I ever see is
you and me.
Love me
like the world loves
Beyoncé.
In a world so determined
to sort us in boxes—
are you happy or sad
a morning person or night
woke warrior or shy
brown or white?
In a world that forgets
how ridiculous it is for a being
to be just one thing
when we are stardust and earth,
ashes and flowers
all mangled together.
In a world that demands
I piece myself apart
to claim one identity or another,
I only find myself whole, here
with you, I can be everything,
I can be me.
I want a house filled with
paintings, books, sunflower dust,
and whispers from you.
Perhaps we should discuss love
but that is a topic for volumes
and I probably don’t have
enough phone battery.
With you, the commitments of love
no longer seem burdensome.
I do not understand you
but that does not worry me;
I barely understand myself.
