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

 

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H

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