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.
If you cage a bird that does not belong to you or does not want to stay, even in a locked cage it will find a way to fly away.
If you hold on to someone that is not meant to be yours or does not want to stay, eventually you will have to part ways.
What is meant to be yours will always find its way back to you, no obstacle can prevent a blessing that is meant to stay.
I miss the smell of your cigarette stained finger tips, the way the scent would linger under my nose as you stroked my lip.
I crave your nicotine drenched kiss, I need my fix.
I place a cigarette inbetween my lips, but it doesn’t have the same kick, nicotine tastes better when it’s off your lips.
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
“If they truly loved you and wanted you, they wouldn’t say you deserve better and to go find it. They would become better and give that to you.” -S.Alaa
Plates filled with half eaten cookies, sweet like your kisses; tea cups half full with your favourite type of tea, but now cold and bitter like your temper.
The sun has set and our play date is over, but I will still take a stroll over the white picket fence we built together and remind myself of the colour of your skin, that resembles the sun rise of a new day.
I will sit on my favourite swing and watch as yours, adjacent to mine, rustles gently in the wind and I will sing your favourite lullaby for when you search for something to help you sleep at night.
The sun has set and our play date is over, but I will still set a pot of your favourite type of tea and pretend that this is not goodbye but a permanent game of hide and seek.
I am an artist.
I am the artist that will write poetry across your skin with kisses. I will trace your scars with my lips and replenish them with colour. I am the artist that will use colours of you to create a masterpiece. A masterpiece that I will lock away in the corners of my memory; a masterpiece I will bring out to trace over when you have gone.
I look down at the space between my fingers only to find them lonesome without yours.
Glancing left and right only to not find you on either side, just my own solitary shadow. And that is when I realised, you are nothing but an empty breeze. An entity and nonentity, that fulfils no purpose but to gently brush aside the hair of passers-by to whisper sweet meaningless words and empty promises. A gust of tremendously strong wind to make us feel everything on the surface of our skin, but thats all it is, the surface. There is no substance, no depth to your words as they aren’t followed through by your actions.
But I am not a gust of wind nor am I a nonentity. I am a thunderstorm, adamant to overthrow Zeus from the heavens, if it would allow me to fill the space between your fingers. Giving rise to tornadoes that would leave behind a wake of destruction. A wake of destruction I’d use as pathway to get to your side, to ensure your shadow was not left companionless, like you left mine. For you see my love, my actions will evoke tsunamis within your soul and fill your veins with streams of adoration. My honest and meaningful words have created an ocean of devotion to you, with each wave of affection that crashes against your ribcage, it erodes the surface of your ribs to reveal the warmth and fondness that I have filled your bones with.
And just like the wind, your presence is momentary. Momentary, just like your infatuation and commitment.
I am a storm and you are a gust of wind.
Watering you with love from head to toe, washing off every ounce of your woe. I have cleaned the cob webs that nestled between your ribs and hung honey suckle vines instead. We have not sewn parts of our hearts into one another to replace the pieces we carelessly gave away to old lovers. Instead we built a beautiful white fenced bridge from my heart to yours, with a glistening stream of love that flows under this bridge, from the chambers and valves of my heart to yours.
Everyday I have tread carefully over the bridge to grow roses of luscious shades of red and pink within your lungs. Now I see your lungs are filled with life and I listen to the echoes of melodious laughter that depict every flourished colour. No more weeds of doubt entwined and entangled amongst the wiring of your brain, instead I have grown daffodils to fill you up with encouragement and hope. Within your scars I have grown clusters of lavender to represent purity and devotion. The purity of my intentions and love for you, my devotion to you.
I have grown a garden within my you, as you have done for me. My lungs are bursting with magnolia. You gently place beautiful water lilies in all the streams that spring from my eyes, to remind me of the love you have for me and the beauty you see within me. You have caressed me with endless encouragement and hope, I feel it trickle from the tips of your fingers onto each strand of hair, you’re growing blue bells from my head. Every kiss and every touch, an orchid grows, you have gently pulled out every dead rose within me, every shattered piece of this glass heart and has grown within me a real heart. Nurtured me back to health. Drenched me in kindness, never put me through a drought of affection.