Pick Me Up

The black ink from your pen stained my face as you mercilessly struck me with it. I didn't move. Not because I didn't want to, but because I just couldn't. I shrivelled as you grabbed me and looked me in the eyes. I said nothing. I did nothing. Is that why you were so furious? Because I always remained silent? No, wait. I saw tears in your eyes. You pushed me aside and while you sobbed incessantly, I stared at the tear drops that first filled your eyes, came running down the curve of your face and then rained over me.I remained still. I let you cry. I let you stain your face and I let you stain mine. I let you weep. I let you yell. You needed a shoulder and I lent you mine. You wailed the entire night and I wished you would stop. I saw your eyes turn red and your lips quiver. I saw how weak you felt and I saw how your hands trembled. I saw your fist stiffen and I saw you pick up that pen again. I saw how so suddenly, the lines on your face changed shape. I knew these signs well and prepared for another blow.I didn't move. I stood still. I clenched my fist and closed my eyes. A pen is mightier than the sword. I wished you knew they didn't mean it literally. I was ready for it , in fact waiting for it but was very much surprised when you gently caressed my forehead instead, and wrote - 'I'm sorry'.

You were crying again but I could feel the warmth in your eyes now. I could see how your lips were forming a slight curve but your tears wouldn't let your face contain it for long. I saw how your face expressed guilt and sorrow, hope and happiness, love and anger , all at the same time. I wanted to smile, so it would encourage you but I didn't. I couldn't. I heard you whisper , between sobs and sighs, 'she won't forgive', again and again, until only silent cries filled the room. I stood still and watched as the silence enveloped you and watched as your face changed colour again. I watched as your face was loud with anger again. I watched as you punched me in the face and ripped me apart. You threw me into a corner of the room and from there, I watched you weep for hours. I noticed your eyes tire and your head fall lower every few minutes. I watched you as you let your eyelids shut and your head rest. I sat in a corner and watched you all night.

I wondered why it was so difficult to be able to feel and express. I wondered what part of it was more difficult. To be able to feel right? Or to be able to express right?

None of this mattered to me, anyway. Why should it matter to a piece of paper? A lifeless, emotionless piece of paper, that's been ripped into a lot more number of pieces. It doesn't matter.

 So, you wrote these precious heavy words on me- 'I'm sorry', but now that I'm lying here on the floor, I might as well assume that my next destination would be your trash can. Your apology to the 'she' you were talking about is going nowhere. Your tears will all have been spent in vain. Wake up. Pick me up. Use me. Believe me, I can help. Deliver me to her. I am just a few pieces of paper, but yes, I can help. Pick me up.