#MicroHeart The Refugee Camp

#MicroHeart The Refugee Camp

#MicroHeart The Refugee Camp

It happened after you left me.

My therapist had referred to me as the “conscious comatose case”.

Vegetative. Alive, but unresponsive. Minimally functioning.

That is the only thing I remember from those months of therapy, aside from her eyes. Her dark, piercing, scrutinisng gaze- the kind of gaze you had when I laughed a little too hard. Always calculative, always trying to find something deeper.

It became a habit to come undone in front of you. My deepest, darkest secrets, clouding your concerned, bright eyes, like an eclipse. Wanting a taste of hope. Now, they feed on hopes of the past.

You see, my heart and my brain are in two different time zones. My heart’s in the past, my brain, in the present. And I am squeezed in that fine line connecting the two. You call it a “memory”. I call it a “refugee camp”.

The camp that has now started to smell like the ghost of your vulnerabilities, the shadow of your dreams.

So, I send myself on another exile.

My heart’s still in the past. And now, so is my brain. I’m still alive, but more unresponsive. My therapist refers to me as “the lost comatose cause”.

Am I really lost, if I’m still traveling the path that leads to you?

It happened after you left me. But I never left you.

And when I wake up, you will no longer be just a memory.