Eight Almosts

By Riya Rajayyan

yellow petaled flower on gray brick floor

i) The taste of leftover hope is like raw melted honey with hints of bittersweet notes dripping. I find leftover hope and almosts in many places these days, when Amma arranges her sarees and smiles at the memories at the windowsill, almost finding her old self back.

ii) When I see people in love, I realize that just like water, after love warms, it boils. I observe my parents these days, it is almost like they wish to go back to when times were simpler. I am either too invested or not bothered at all.

iii) Soap slides off my wet skin, I feel like my anxiety takes turns and washes away. And when I keep my face just under the shower I feel the force of water almost shaking me back into reality.

iv) I asked the person I love why do people compare things to the moon and he said, “Maybe because that’s the one same thing they both can see, unlike skies.” I followed up with questions like, “Why not the sun?” just to see the look on his face. I almost saw us with our hands intertwined under the same sky watching stars.

v) Both of my grandmother’s have been through things I can never imagine. And although I like one more than the other, the fact that they are extremely strong women does not change. When I hear their story I see how they wish to be carefree, almost like they were before life happened.

vi) When I look in the mirror I wonder how to love a body that will never love you back. Somedays I write poetry, somedays poetry writes me. Like an ink pen gliding over my skin, and it’s words resonating far and beyond. A body that will never love you back is almost like looking at the sunset and seeing nothing but grey clouds.

vii) I find a four petal flower on the pavement of the same road I have taken for years. But one day I am looked at like clothes are being stripped off, and I feel a chill in my bones. I almost feel sick, do I have to stop coming here?

vii) Now I go back to the taste of hope, and although it is like honey some days also like a poison staining my throat as I drink it. Too much of anything is never good. Too many almosts, too much leftover hope.

Riya Rajayyan is a poet and student with an avid interest in research. She has been published in e- journals and poetry magazines, including The Meadow and Allears. Her poetry includes the beauty of mundane and is sometimes about the people who have impacted her life. She wishes to change the world by being the change, and taking whatever steps she can to make it brighter via various mediums of art. You can read her work on instagram @aestheticgraphy__.

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