Your current is dangerous and when it is still, it is waiting to be provoked. I do not know whether to stay on the shore and wait till your currents have calmed to sail again or locate a new ocean to sail. I am in the in between.
I am unsure whether in time you will welcome me back to join you or churn up a storm to keep me out. Perplexed, I sit at the edge of the shore. Yet, I feel like I am anchored to the bottom of the sea bed, chained around my ankles, floating aimlessly just below the surface of the sea. I cannot sink to the bottom nor am I able to float to the top. Now do you understand? I am in the in between.
It feels like I am staring at the face of a clock, gnawing as the minute hand goes back and forth between two dials, waiting for it to make one revolution. And I think to myself, can it be fixed or is it time to get a new clock? I am in the in between.
It feels as though I am climbing a mountain, oxygen concentrations are depleting, I am exhausted and weak. But I have almost made it to the top, shall I take this as a victory in itself or climb cautiously and tactically to the top? I am in the in between.
Do I hold on and wait or let go? There is nothing more torturous than false hope.
I am in the in between. – S.Alaa
“I feel like nothing, I meant nothing.”
“You are everything, but to someone else.”
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.
Patience, consistency and commitment.
The three needed to achieve anything successfully.
Your patience has run dry, but I will remember all the days you had been patient with me.
We have reached the dreaded day where you no longer want to hold me nor kiss me, but I will remember each and every loving kiss you have planted on my skin.
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
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
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
And when the day of judgement is upon us
In our graves we will rise
He will question us, one by one:
“my child, why?”
And on the day our mother’s cannot defend us
In our graves we will realise
We should have been kind. – S. Alaa
The same tongue he recites his prayer, he spits out venom.
The same mouth he asks God for forgiveness, he grants to others seldom.
Maybe you are a tortured soul, in seek of a haven.
Nevertheless, I pray you find it at the gates of heaven. – S. Alaa