I have made homes out of people who claimed they loved me, only to have left me homeless one too many times. – S.Alaa
Nostalgia is seldom cradled within these arms. Torment by bittersweet memories of the past have ceased. Scars of where I had bled love for the undeserving one are scattered across my body like landmarks. Landmarks made beautiful from the love others have poured generously back into me. I have healed with only the ache ignited by laughter in my chest, a particular blissful ache I have missed.
These lungs no longer collapse on themselves to expel a howl for an overvalued presence that offers nothing but inadequate love and bargained affection.
I have fallen in love again, fallen in love with life. Fallen in love with the opportunities it is offering me in generous handfuls that I was previously too oblivious to appreciate. An antidote of patience and hope to the resentful poison that had once thrived inside of me. It is over, this self-battling war is done. I am free. – S. Alaa
Nostalgic murmurs among photographs,
Not within these walls that echo the cries of a mother.
This house is not a home.
Old duvets soaked with love and laughter,
Now stained with tears, reflections of inevitable disasters.
This house is not a home. – S. Alaa
These ankles are still bruised from the shackles that had held me prisoner to this bed, after you left. My depression and I had lay side by side as hours turned into days, days into nights, sunsets to sunrise.
This hollow chest of mine still echoes out your name, like a wolf howling for the night’s light. My sadness and I had lay side by side caressing each other till these sad, swollen eyes were soothed into another sleepless night.
The chambers of this heart have thickened and scarred, since the day we’ve been apart. I should of been more careful with this glass-heart. – S. Alaa