Reem-S

I'm sitting on the floor of our balcony on the fifteenth floor. I can distinctly hear the sound of a rooster in the distance, the roaring engine of the occasional car or motorcycle, a donkey's hooves clip-clopping against the pavement, the ocean awakening. What if I were to collect every piece ever written in awe of the sky's brilliance? Right now, the stars look like sprinkled fairy dust in the endless seas of the sky. They look like the ceiling of the room I had when I was twelve. The ceiling held so many glow in the dark moons and stars. The glow in the dark moons always reminded me of croissants. The sky is slowly starting to clear, sep

Because the sofa is tainted with you and the songs, the songs that once made me feel nostalgic for places I've never been and people I've never met are smudged with you and that small park next to my apartment building is smeared with you and how dare you resurface and sneak in from the tiny gaps in my closure. It's not fair. It's not fair because I had a monochrome vision, and I had been comfortable, or numb, at least, and you came along and showed me colors I did not know existed. You had me drunk with words so fine, so fiery, that I could not see or hear or taste or feel anything that was not them. And I wanted more. So help me, I wanted

I wish my words came out effortlessly. I wish they were like yours; eloquent, graceful, like a silk sheet. I wish my unspoken, unwritten words didn't give me such a hard time; my tongue-twister-like mental words. But alas, here I am, with my blank paper and my always-ready pen that is never quite in motion.

I find myself wishing I could kiss your words or, better yet, hang them in a frame visible to my eyes only, where I can behold their intricate simplicity. I often wonder if use the same honey-coated words with other people; if you wear them out so much that you hang them and leave them to dry every night before using them again the next day. However cringe-worthy this thought is to me; I tell myself that this isn't the case and, like a blanket, pull your words over my head and allow the familiar wave of nostalgia to lull me to sleep.

With your verbal sword you struck and as pain shot through my veins and as the venom dripping settled bitterness sat alongside like an old friend

These words I took and wrapped them around me like a blanket and willed them to comfort me like a mug of hot chocolate on a rainy night

We are so engrossed in seeking acceptance from others that we often forget that the first person we should seek acceptance from is ourselves.

Here,see,I can write happy things: My love; at this moment, my heart is [over flowing] with endearment and gratitude for when I forgot the lyrics to the song of my heart, you sang it to me, with every syllable uttered,your [sweet melody] caressing my ears. But tonight, tonight I am a sad poet wailing in agony. My heart has a become a [ghost town] shattered glass stained windows abandoned homes. Tonight, instead of hearing your honey-coated words, I am listening to [everything] being brought down I am listening to the bulwark being built. Perhaps I could convince them to leave my ghost town of a heart [alone]

String these words together wear them 'round your neck 'round your neck as a reminder reminder so you won't forget forget the words you wore wore tightly like a spiked chain chain you can't rid yourself of. Of all the things said said these words you can't forget.