Past to present: A timeline

Friday. 06:14am, two weeks ago:

“I usually wake up before him. I gently unwrap his arms from around my waist and place a soft kiss on his cheek before I go shower. By the time I’m done, he’s standing outside, shirtless, with a cigarette flickering between his fingers. As much as I want him to quit this virulent habit, but I adore the sight of him exactly like that. That particular moment, when the graceful view of his body meets the sunrise, combined with the bitterness of the Coffee down my throat, makes me feel like if I died at that moment, I’d die at my happiest.
I head back to our room to get dressed, he follows me to lay back in bed because he can still spare a few more minutes in bed before taking a shower and getting ready for work. He loves watching me get dressed, he says that it’s his favourite part of the day. He says he loves how the shirt falls on my shoulders, the way my fingers move while I button it up from bottom to top, how the sight of my neck unravels his worries while I pull my hair up.
I hold his face and kiss him before I put my lipstick on. Frankly, I don’t why I always kiss him before putting my lipstick on. It’s as if I want to imprint his kiss on my bare lips and then safeguard it under my lipstick until I see him again. He hates it when I put make up on. It actually infuriates him sometimes. He believes it’s an act that delineates arrant violation of natural beauty. I always smile and listen thinking how much I love his mind and his smart mouth.
As soon as I’m done, he walks me to the car, still shirtless, still mine. He opens the door for me and places the warmest, most loving kiss on my forehead, “God, I love you,” he whispers with his eyes closed before his lips softly leave my forehead. I drive away thinking that I can’t wait for the day to end so I’d go back home to him.”

Today, 06:20am:

I like to think that time will handle our story. That maybe a time will come where I wake up without you haunting my every thought and move. I’ll have my regular cup of Coffee as I do every morning and stare outside from my window for a while, I will then dress up, put my make up on and leave the house tranquilly. I would go through my day doing everything half-heatedly with a smile incised on my face. I’ll pull off ‘normal’ for 24 hours. Who knows, maybe I’ll even fall asleep without any pills.

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Late Night Musing

Artwork by Lucy Salgado

Artwork by Lucy Salgado

I wonder how his breath would feel on my neck, how his lips would feel on my collar bone. And then I wonder, what if heaven lies in his fingertips? What if he ran them through my hair and it would be something I cannot possibly recover from? What if his lips brushed against mine and numbed all my senses?

But I can’t even look into his eyes long enough to let him know how desperate I am for him to put my thoughts into rest.

Fiery

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I want to tell you how it feels like being with you. It feels like an eruption of love, lust and intellect. You provoke all my primal instincts and I’m madly in love with way you make my senses dance around you.

You linger on my skin..

Art work by Ali Özer

Art work by Ali Özer

I lay at night, staring at the naked sky, full of scintillating stars. Stars that reminded me of us… How every look from you illuminates my heart from within, how every touch screams out endearment.
Oh dear God why did you send him to me?  Whenever I’m with him, I think of nothing else but him, my mind goes entirely void. Everything else is a blur except him, his face and his body. The way he looks at me, that very exact moment his eyes meet mine, I feel like I’m at the pinnacle of my femininity.  He looks at me as if I’m Eve herself.  An immense look of confidence, confident he is that my heart is retained by him, that he is the home of my psyche.

I crave for nothing more than your presence right now, for your essence, for your whispers of intimacy..

Discourse and Coffee

“He looks at me in a very unusual way, you know, that kind of look that makes you feel like you matter. I mean, I get nervous around him, his aura does things to me.  With all honesty and truthfulness, one gaze from him and all I can think of is how much I want to keep that smile on his face. But of course, I have my own confusions. For instance, there’s a tremendous amount of ambiguity surrounding him. I’m shrewd, I can read people easily but it’s just not the case with him. It’s difficult to explain what he portrays. He is one of those people that make you feel like they’re too simple to even attempt to understand and before you know it, you’re in bed thinking he’s the most perplex you’ve ever had to deal with.” Bemused, I explained.

“Maybe you interest him, maybe he’s intrigued by how different you are. Have you ever considered that?!”  She asked enthusiastically.

I was stunned to hear her say that, it’s daunting to think that she might be even slightly right. That it’s our points of disparity that makes us what we are to each other. It’s ironic how even I cannot define what we are or what we mean to one another.
“It cannot possibly be that! He’s just, he’s lively, He likes the dynamic aspect of life, that ever changing state of stability. I can’t even begin to tell you how fascinated he is by sleepless cities and crowded streets. The time I spend immersed in my novels late at night, he spends dancing  and letting go, detaching, one fret at a time. It really can’t be that; he’s like a sunny summer day on the beach and I’m a cloudy day in November.”

“What if you’re the calm to his chaos? The cloudy day he needs after burning too bright? You know how they say opposites attract!” She said while banging her empty mug on the wooden table.

Good God, she might be right. “No, it couldn’t be. Here’s the thing, you might think a person like him is initiative, proactive, talkative, but he isn’t at all. He’s quiet, like I am, passionate about having an escape from reality just as I am.” I answered, uncertain of my own thoughts, unaware of my emotions.

“You fool, I wish you could see how your eyes light up when you talk about him.” Agonized, she added “You feel this insane pull towards him but you don’t dare to give in, why? Because his wild eyes awaken your lustfulness? Because you can’t fully scrutinize what he is made of? Because he terrifies your frail little heart? Hold his hand, pull him closer and tell him what you truly desire.”

I smiled, “maybe I will..”

Love; a misconception

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Artwork by Olga Marciano

So often we find ourselves trying to convince each other that love is the strongest force of all.  That the existence of love, itself, would overpower anything else, On the contrary, the truth is, love is by far, the most fragile insubstantial force of life. The actuality of love itself is not impregnable. It acquires every attribute of strength from the two people it is shared between. It is merely the word that most people use to interpret the resilience of the two combined;
their willingness to withstand anything side by side, relentlessly;
their ability to be each other’s ground to hold, shoulder to lean on;
being each other’s clarity when all things blur; Each other’s home, personified;
their persistence to contain each other’s darkness and reflect each other’s light;
their determination to draw and carve their own path by themselves;
And simply being each other’s truth in a world of lies.

A Senseless Power

Artwork by Winston Chmielinski

Artwork by Winston Chmielinski

I think of you when people talk about love. When they describe how pain and beauty collide; when they wonder how something, so mad, be so clear. I think of  how you made a thousand suns burn inside me and shortly after, a thousand oceans drowning me in. And I’d end up thinking that I never had any say in what love did to me, and whether I liked it or not, the pain had to come along with something so powerful and overwhelming.