the house is so silent
so sad
parents are on the other side of the globe
my sister’s singing in her room
i’m all alone
it’s not even worth turning on the light
i wish i could say i have the sun of my soul
shining through the tunnel of this phase
but i can’t
because i don’t
just like this house
i’m so silent
i’m so sad
1265 days later.
Sometimes the pain of losing a loved one
Makes you feel closer to them
And sometimes it makes you feel
Lifetimes apart
Sometimes it flows through you and turns into art
Sometimes it freezes your blood
true missing doesn’t need time to be felt.
you feel it the moment the oxygen you breathe
is different from your beloved’s;
when the air doesn’t carry their scent;
when the room doesn’t sing to their presence.
a true reader
an avid admirer of words
would never claim a book to themselves
if it were the last one on the shelf
unless they knew they would appreciate it
just as much — if not more — as the other potential reader
it requires both boldness and gentleness
to buy the last copy of a book in a bookstore
some days
i enjoy solitude
amongst a room full of people
and other days
i need to be in a deafeningly soundless vacuum
to feel at home in my own being
either way
solitude is the oxygen i breathe
it was fleeting encounters with love
that softened my nails and
allowed my skin to heal
and fade away those
scars of my darkest
nights
never try to recreate past experiences
for they would only feel like desperate replicas
of the lived and gone past
just allow life to flow as it wills
for there are always
wonderful new experiences
waiting to manifest
if you only gave yourself
the chance to allow them into your world
i feel like i’m a bundle of dwindling potential
for i have all these ideas and all these dreams
without a single clue on how to go about
bringing them to life
i feel as though i am nothing but a shadow
of the life i could be creating for myself
there’s something
about those
dark early morning
moments
that makes me feel
like the whole world
is okay
that there’s no one here
but me
and it’s not lonely
at all
i wish it was in my own language that i befriended words
i wish it was in my mother tongue that poetry flowed through me
i wish, with deep anguish and shame, that i didn’t lose myself and stray away from the greatest language of all that i so happened to be luckily born into
photos by the incredibly talented Noor Al Ali
