you, me, and everyone we know we are like two houses built on opposite banks of a river, windows facing each other, lamps flickering in the dusk. i have let you walk through the corridors of my life, shown you the peeling wallpaper of my memories, the family portraits tilted slightly on their nails, told you how much i love my parents, how their silence is a cathedral where i learned to pray. yet, to them you are a shadow on the far bank, a name without a body, a whisper that never crosses the water. this is how it always is we hand each other our ghosts, our tenderest wounds, our small private infinities but they never escape the rooms we lock them in. the people we love remain strangers to one another, like stars burning in the same night but separated by lifetimes of empty space. i think about how I’ve folded you into my sentences, how you live between the commas of my life story but to my parents you are not even a punctuation mark, not even a pause. it’s strange how intimacy is a secret country with its own border control; how we smuggle each other’s names across without anyone knowing, how we build a cathedral of confessions that no one else ever visits. we are both cartographers of hidden geographies, mapping one another’s worlds with invisible ink, knowing that outside our maps everyone else is blind. also i wanted to share this on wj but i wasn't able to post it because 100 words was the limit so if you are here, thankyousomuch - "gunahon ki sidiya ginne baithu toh jannat ki manzil bhaut dur nazar aati hai aaj jo maut se na bhi darte the unke bhi haath me maut ke kauf ki nami mehsus ki jati hai"
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