The dinner table

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.

– S.Alaa

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Play date

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.

-S.alaa

 

Who are you? pt 1

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.

-S.Alaa

A gust of wind

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.

-S.Alaa

Saudade

There is no shame in loving someone that no longer loves you. There is no shame in missing someone that no longer misses you. It is heartbreaking but it is not shameful.

And if you find yourself laying there, wide eyed and fragile in the early hours of the morning, missing the one you love but who is long gone, tell them. Do not let the fear of these feelings not being reciprocated stop you. Do not let fear paralyse you from whispering those three precious words.

Embrace your softness, embrace your emotions and embrace the love you have for everything and everyone. There is no weakness exemplified in expressing your love. There is only strength shown in the ability to express your love for another who does not feel the same.

One life. That is all we have, one life. Love everyone and everything unconditionally, no matter the consequences.

I have loved, and still do, love individuals who no longer love me. I have confessed to missing them, despite knowing it will not be reciprocated or acknowledged. I do not love because I want to be loved, I love because I cannot help but love. I will always embrace that side of myself, regardless of the outcome. – S. Alaa

Glass-heart

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

 

A childish lover

Tantrums were thrown when fed his mistakes.

A restless game of Tag, his ego loved to be chased.

Hid his emotions in fear of looking weak, a daunting play of hide and seek.

Finally, when it was my turn to be chased, he wailed “No, I don’t want to play”.

– S. Alaa