Tears pour down my face like Autumn rain, my heart bleeds profusely from the wounds you inflicted within me.
Distraught, thoughts of all the other women that climbed ontop of you spin through my mind like a carousel. All the women who were inbetween the arms I called a home, all the women underneath the body I called a lover.
You scold at me to stop, but I can’t escape what could of been.
Your rebuke does not sting like your dishonesty, but I know I am not insane nor am I paranoid.
I am just sick, sick to death of being hopelessly in love with you.
And just like that I was thrown away and forgotten.
We all sit around the dinner table.
Some placid, some temperamental, some simply lost in thought.
Pessimism smirks at me, ”I told you so”, he spits arrogantly from across the table, peering over at the vulnerable.
Anxiety fidgets at the edge of her seat as she agrees, ”I knew it, he’s always right”. Slowly she slips away into a trance of destructive overthinking and self blame.
Anger’s eyes pierce through me, his silence dangerous.
I sink into my seat as sadness continues to gnaw away at me.
Hope gently places her warm, wrinkled hand on mine as she leans in beside me, ”You did your best beloved”.
Anger and Pessimism erupt into laughter, Anxiety frantically shakes her head ”No you didn’t!”.
Love stares blankly at the plate in front of her, reminiscing on the endless endearments she whispered and fond kisses she gifted generously. She turns to give me a faint smile to reassure me.
Depression quietly picks at her plate, slouched in her chair at the end of the table. Terrified at the sight of her I turn away.
That’s enough for tonight.
I blow out the candle and call it a night.
“Shams”, the arabic word for sun. (Pronounced Sham-ss)
The sun smiles down at me and I frown back. The air is fresh but it feels like my lungs have collapsed as nostalgia firmly wraps around my respiratory tract. I sit by the window and watch the trees sway in the breeze, reminiscing on days like these when it was just you and me.
I wonder if you’re smiling under the sun, the sound of your sweet laughter filling the air. I wonder if you’re squinting at the light, blissful without a care. I sit by the window and watch the trees sway in the breeze, wondering if you miss me on days like these.
I never love, to be loved.
I love because I love to love.
However, the tragedy strikes when I am told I am loved, because then I expect to always be loved. – S.Alaa