Some time last year, in a foggy vision where the part of my brain that distinguishes an hour from a minute was dizzy. In times like that you forget; what is time but a man made illusion? Aren’t the thoughts floating in space of the mind more dominant than anything else, such as time? Some time in October, my awakenings happen in October, simultaneously with times I forget to shave my beard. I was dining home on my one-man table, few inches away from my wooden floor where candles flicker, oh how they seemed like the only thing able to lose control and sway amid the breeze, unlike my body of matter that seems to be too submissive to gravity.
I keep the window half open, somewhere in the corner of my mind I am afraid that the scent of flowers in my decayed garden would think I am welcoming, or would falsely believe I can be a home to anything. The river of love does not flow through those who deny it. And those who deny it, forget -most of the time- that they are half water.
Some time in October, I knew it should have been her in front of me, not the ghost of her idea nor her silhouette dancing with the flickering candlelight.
It should have been her, but I have the habit of destroying beautiful things, and I know that women fall for the idea that they are the ugly reflection they see in me when their hearts are open for my words and their eyes see a false potential of myself. If those women would close their eyes, try to see me in a different kind of eye, a third one or something as such, they wouldn’t like what they see; I’ve adapted to the idea of resembling the uncomfortable void.
And those women, they usually end up walking away from me because flowers don’t blossom without water.
It is not funny that you say you are “so OCD” when you rush to adjust the tilted table cloth and your friends laugh about it. It is not funny because you don’t know what it’s like for a slight tilt to remind me of how ugly my crooked smile is. And nothing can change this truth.
It is not funny that you say you are “so OCD” when you rinse your cup twice, because when I do that, it’s far deeper than just the cup’s condition; I do that to be less harsh in judgment with myself because mistakes find a way to disturb my peace.
When you over-organize your room and think you might be OCD, it’s nothing like my reality; when I try to tidy up the maximum amount of things in my house to contrast the mess of emotions I feel inside. And I’d do that again and again until something inside feels right. I keep polishing my mirrors to silence the breaking of the glass inside. And what frustrates me the most is that it works sometimes for a while, right before the other rising of the screams inside.
It is not a joke because you don’t know what it’s like to pray countless times a day with the thought that God doesn’t love me because I feel that I am a bad person, and nothing can fix that. It is not funny when you joke about you having a sharp eye for the flaws of everything and your friends say that you might be OCD, and they laugh.
You don’t know what it’s like to see the needy eyes of my baby boy yet, and I’d avoid touching him because I can’t shake the thought of how filthy he might be. You don’t know what it’s like to keep such a secret, to try to contain my urges so that my husband wouldn’t think I’m crazy. It is not a joke.
It hurts to see that everything around me reminds me of how ugly I feel, how imperfect I am.
I’m interested in
sunsets and road trips
and people who don’t
settle for the ordinary
and those who believe
in myths and magic
I’m interested in
not the shore and
late-night phone calls
discussing life and death
and everything in between
I’m interested in
discuss the characters
in books in such a manner
that makes them seem alive
and I’m also interested
I’m interested in taking risks
not playing by the rules
I’m interested in those
who write love letters
And in those
with a beating heart
that is constantly desiring
because I do not
settle for less
He’s in his grave it’s Peaceful and silent It’s not as scary as they Told him it would be
He’s 77 and he Wonders if her soul is what’s making the stars shine as he sheds his tears
He’s 60 and he’s Right there beside her Gazing into her beautiful Face which seems unmoved By time to him, she wakes up And smiles to him, embraces Him and tells him she loves him
He’s 55 and this is when he decides he doesn’t want to work anymore because he wants to have more of those minutes of admiring existence with his wife so he bought her a bracelet with the word “explore” engraved on it and they ran off to see the world
He’s 42 and he’s perfectly happy with his job because now he understands that money is important, yes but it is not all valuable possessions a man can have and he is one of the most successful men in the region so he wakes up every morning with less pressure because he is everything he dreamed he would be
He’s 30 and he can’t believe there is someone as beautiful As her face as he rests Silent before the beauty of her eyes and the full moon in the sky “I’m going to marry her” He thinks to himself
He’s 26 and he’s Surrounded with The most beautiful people But he’s wondering if he will ever find a stable and successful job and if he’d ever find a woman who’d make his heart beat
He’s 12 and he’s one of those kids who are afraid of the future and are puzzled with life but were moved with a tremendous force that kept pushing them around to understand all that will ever be
He’s 2 now and he just saw his mom shedding tears of happiness for the first time after his first unclear words of “I love you” and he’s Grinning with his Tiny teeth
He’s in his mother’s womb now and it’s peaceful and silent it’s not as scary as they told him it would be