The "here" and "now"

 

Isn’t it strange that I loved everything about you? Even the things that I would consider an OCD seemed charming when you did or said them. Remember once I asked you about your dark side, you sighed and said that you don’t know. Was the question cheesy? I kept thinking about your dark side, your defects, the things that I will find irritating, frustrating, the habits that will drive me crazy and push me to the shores of boredom, silence and regret. I could not find anything of these, or I loved you with all your idiosyncrasies.

Love is strange, isn’t it? I feel betrayed, why am I surrendering to such feelings. I have always cherished my loneliness, I used to say that I enjoy my own company. Never waited for anyone to do anything, a trip, a movie, anything…but now, why am I waiting for a moment that may never come. Waiting for a cinematic finale of these popular romantic movies. The scenario that I create and recreate on daily basis, that one day both of us will realize that life doesn’t make any sense without being together, we will confess that we can’t waste more time and that the rest will never be enough to talk, sing and kiss. Then I wont need to dream or day dream about you and your smiles, I wont need to visualize you wherever I am, and I will stop imagining dialogues that could have happened. But I was never like this, irrational? Yes. A day dreamer? Yes. Emotional? Yes. But I was never that lost.

(You have to always be in the “here” and “now”) one of the shrinks’ many clichés, I want to scream saying its easier said than done. What is my “here” and “now” if you are not with me? I’m ignoring my “here” and thinking of yours, and cant stand my “now”, hoping to meet you soon. Sometimes I feel that all this love will kill me, may be it is starting to kill me, gradually. Or one day I will turn numb, I will lose the blessing of love, the ability to feel that pain or to remember the happiness we shared months ago. What does “here” mean? I am there, wherever you are, with my thoughts, shifting my attention from my surroundings, for a few seconds or for some minutes, I am with you, in your “here”. Now! ha, now only means the unbearable period that I have to waste till we meet, or simply the time where I can think of our memories. Before being totally consumed by your love, or rather by my love, I hope that I would be able to meet you and be courageous enough to tell you all what I want. Hopefully I wont scream or stutter, when I tell you that I loved you from the very beginning, at first I denied this love, then after our few first meetings I denied that I love you, I thought that we were just two nice decent funny people who enjoyed each other’s company, but later I realized that I loved you. It was too late for me to run away, although I am a world class quitter, but apparently, I have been living all my life, facing all these disappointments, postponing such intimate connection just to lose myself in loving you. I won’t allow you to interrupt, or to say anything that may stop me, or make me feel like a loser, or tempt me to apologize for what I feel and say. I will continue telling you, that my feelings are too precious to be aborted, and that when I told you that this was not the end of the story, I was not murmuring a cheap cliché, but I was stating a fact. Such precious feelings must live and thrive till our last breaths. I will tell you that I hate your approach, such self-restraint, disciplined, wise character, all this talking about the responsibilities of loving someone, all these equations that you had in your head, the calculations of when, how much and who. I never understood your point of view, why did you surrender that easy to not loving me while I easily surrendered to loving you?

When I restore my life back, rebuild my days and burry your memories for a while, when all of this happens, I will befriend myself again, I will forgive me for such sin, I will be kinder and more understanding. May be the only way to reach such calm state is to deny love, its existence, its relevance or importance. Then I will return back to my comfort zone, my mundane life where all my emotions are controlled, and my feelings are tamed. I will live as most of us, or almost all of us, living to pay bills, watch news and waste time. Years later I realize that I did not fight for the only thing worth fighting for or even living for.

May be if I heard your version of the story, I will feel better, I will be able to stop lingering about why? How come? And all these redundant questions. But please don’t use logic, rationality and all your scientific terms, it is not a legal dispute, it’s a love story. Try to be more emotional, or at least try to explain your ideas using my language. Anyway, I am not sure that this will make any difference, listening to your story or repeating my version of the story for the millionth time, I need a miracle. I can’t even admit that it is a hopeless case, I still need a divine intervention. Is this how heart-broken people think or speak?

Gobran Once said....

 

I once read that the one who loves is happier than the one who is loved, and that love is a great force of giving, and givers are always in a state of bliss. I love you, but I am not happy. Yes a great force of giving, I agree, I am giving myself away, I am losing myself to jealousy, fear and anxiety. I have been questioning myself day and night if I am confused between love and attachment or a sick urge of belonging or any other mental disorder. I have been trying to pacify myself for so long, and the result is more stress, and an unbearable sense of longing. I am paving my way for a classic case of schizophrenia, every night I weave a happy scene of us together, I pick a moment from the past, say all what I wasn’t able to say, all what I wasn’t given the chance to say, I put the words on your lips, I imagine you smiling, we drink coffee and something sweet, always there is something sweet, sometimes we sing and laugh, sometimes we watch a movie, and sometimes we visit places. All these were simple plans that we did not do.

Gobran once said that we never miss the ones we love as they are always with us. O, Gobran, I don’t agree at all, with all my respect, the one I love is always with me, but missing the real encounters is something else. Maybe I did not reach that celestial state that Gobran meant yet. Maybe I still miss your hugs, your kisses and the sweet feeling of your hair. Does this make me a lustful person, or will this remove me from the list of platonic lovers? It is not only about hugs, touches or kisses, it is simply about everything, the mood swings, the depression, the migraine, all the ups and downs of our daily lives. Yes, I want to know what happened in your day even if its boring, I want to hear your cursing someone on the phone, I want to witness you being irrational, provocative or selfish. I want a big slice of the real thing.

The cold messages loaded with silly emojis are becoming dreadful, they seem to be your way, your efficient way of keeping a friendly buffer. Am I supposed to thank you, to be grateful for taming my feelings, for your wise and civilized operation of turning a lover to a friend? It wont work, it has never worked, and I am really losing myself throughout the process. Till now I smile whenever I remember you, I still hear cheerful music whenever I think of you, am I on the verge of psychosis? do not worry it not an obsession, its pure and profound love, a feeling that I have never experienced and was not ready for its consequences.  Dear Gobran, yes, the ones we love are always with us, but we miss them, we miss them in an unbearable way.

 

That couple!

 I went to that art exhibition that we were planning to go together. I don’t know why I did not wait, we still had 10 days before they  change it, 10 excuses to send you messages, 10 excuses to know your plans, or at least the plans that I am allowed to know about now. May be I wanted to get used to doing things without you, to enjoy my life alone, restaurants, exhibitions, monuments  and movie theatres, just like before. The paintings were amazing, I wanted to call you and shout, ”Wow, the artist is incredibly talented”, but I trained myself not to call you at that time of the day, I stopped sending whatsapp messages during this slot, I don’t know why but I have an unjustified paranoia that you will be sitting with someone, sipping your coffee while it is still hot, smiling, or even laughing, moving your long fingers in these theatrical moves as you speak, it was our time, I mean the time we used to meet when we used to meet.

I starred at most of the paintings, and caught myself murmuring of what I wanted to tell you, “ the composition here is perfect, ….this posture reminds me of our ancient Egyptian statues,…..  this is really beautiful … what do you think”. Can you imagine, I really asked you about your thoughts and your favorite one. I was alone in the hall, I thought of sending you photos, may be you would get angry and ask why didn’t I wait for you as we planned. But if you didn’t say that I would have got angry. A couple entered the gallery while I was lost in my thoughts. I sat on that lonely wide bench infront of one of the large masterpieces, I distracted myself by the colors, textures and compositions, so that I don’t follow that couple, they were moving slowly, whispering to each other, their smiles were beautiful and their eyes were shinning in a way I had experienced a short while ago.

I sat in my car, did not move, and did not know how to control the unneeded cascading thoughts. So will this be my new habit? Envying  couples, scanning their moves and comparing them to what we would have done. A year ago, I would have mocked their romantic moves, I would have said that they could go to a coffee shop and leave art exhibitions to those who are really interested in art. Strange! May be life is punishing me, or simply love is punishing me.

Time

 

Time, what is time? Time is an illusion or even a delusion. One’s life should be calculated by moments rather than by years. Only the moments worth remembering and cherishing. Why would I consider the years wasted in sleeping, driving and donkey work? What’s precious about meals eaten alone or with other but happening in an absentmindedly manner, nights eaten by boredom and mornings consumed in mundane conversations. Only the precious moments count, these magical collection of seconds that make life meaningful or even worth living. I had my share of these beautiful moments thanks to you. Pure happiness that felt surreal but tasted like heaven. Shooting stars, heart beats, sudden tears, all of these tender surprises are difficult to describe or explain to others, but each of us know the plethora of feelings that flood us when they happen. You took me there, even unintentionally, you took me there a few times, a few brief times, but we were there and that is what really matters. I have lived. I can’t deny that you gave me the precious gift of life, you carved those profound emotions deeply in my being. Your love became part of me, part of my existence and nothing can change this. Nothing or no one can take these moments away, they happened and we were United together in an ocean of love. Stolen moments, indeed, they were stolen from your logic, my fear and all “our” others. 

I can simply state that I’m a few moments old. I tasted love, a few tiny sips, but who could ever bear more. I’m grateful for these moments and I will learn how to relive them again and again. I won’t accuse you of anything, my love we were United once, and once we unit we are always unit, may be in another life, another dimension or another time. But again, what is time?

A Farewell

 

I have been writing a lot about you, may be today I can write to you, a letter. My first letter, and hopefully it will be the last letter. A farewell. “I love you”, this is how I want to start my letter, I love you. Nothing more can be said, love is the start and the end, love is the whole story. You said love means responsibility, you said love implies consequences and you said a lot of other things that I don’t want to remember. I remember how everything started, some call it love from the first sight, but no, it wasn’t love, I have to admit, I was amazed, dazzled and overwhelmed, all at once. From the very beginning I understood that nothing can ever happen between us, your charm, elegance and grace contradicted with my clumsiness, but, and there is always a “but”, as soon as we started talking, it was impossible to stop. How talkative are you my lovely Sherhrazade! I was happy, we had a nice talk, you were really lovely on that day. I am sure that you enjoyed our conversation on that day too. Then we met, I was afraid, I faked an important appointment to leave, I told you later that I have always had that feeling, that I have to leave before people feel that I became boring or unwanted. I remember that you told me that I was silly.

Do you still remember? You were waiting for me to call and I was waiting for you to do the same. I remember how lovely you sounded when you said, “I did not want you to leave”. On our third meeting, I decided that I will be myself and I will show you the real me. “I love you”, that what I was sure about on that day. The feeling was enough, the feeling was surreal, the feeling was overwhelming. I did not know what to do or say, I did not want the hours to pass but they did. I had to leave, but on that day our love was born, it seems like ages ago. No words can describe the happiness I felt, it was rather a sense of joy, remember the dozens of silly massages I used to send you every night, “I love you….”

“I miss you….”

“I am so happy….”

“I love you…”

You told me latter that some people live and die without experiencing such a profound feeling, you are right, it was profound indeed, and it uprooted me. I can’t count the enjoyable lunches we had together, the long conversations, the details, the minute details and the confessions. This is turning into a very boring letter, I m losing my courage and confidence in front this blank piece of paper, just as I do in front of you. I really wished to tell you everything when we last met. I wanted to scream and say that this is torture, I would have hugged you, kissed you before leaving. This should have been the end, the proper end. But months ago, when I was asking for a last hug, when I was begging for a last kiss, you said NO, two letters only, just two letters, deprived me from a proper closure.

“I love you” and I love everything about you, even your eccentric opinions I considered them mere idiocies. Isn’t it strange to love places, times and people that I only knew about from you? Isnt it strange to wish to continue my life loving you. How many times did I want to tell you that we both wasted a lot of time before meeting each other, and that we can’t afford wasting more, but I did not. I thought that there will be enough time to say everything. I tried not to be hasty as usual, and wanted to enjoy your love at a slow pace, but apparently it wasn’t meant to be. I told a friend about you, he didn’t believe me, he did not expect these feelings, words and dreams to be mine. “Middle Age crisis” he said. But no, it is love, and I am not going to define it to you, we had this discussion before. My friend said time will cure me, I wanted to tell him that time is the enemy, may be time befriended you and helped you to forget me, to abort our love, and to enjoy my company as a friend. Time what a traitor, time isn’t helping me at all.

If you are still reading this letter, I want to ask for one last thing. Please remember me, remember me as I was, with all my defects, with all my genuine uncontrolled feelings, with all my unfulfilled dreams, and with all the songs that we did not sing together. I want you to think of how beautiful our last kiss would have been, how tender our last hug would have been, and how noble our last tears would have been. I want you to understand that although “some people live and die without experiencing such feelings”, those who experience love the way I did are neither alive nor dead. I am somewhere between my previous life and the life that we could have had together. I am whirling between the heaven of love and the hell of longing. Don’t forget me, don’t label me as someone whom you met, whom you could have loved, don’t label me. Plant me in your memory, don’t let time sweep me away, keep our memories, smile whenever you remember one of our silly jokes, miss me, even if you know that it was impossible for us to be together. Forget your logic, forget your discipline but please don’t forget me. I love you.

When shall I see you again?

You never ask this question, and it hurts, everything now hurts. When we talk you mention people, places and things that I will never meet, go or share with you. We talk, but it’s all nonsense chatter and when I want to say the important things, my tongue is tied by fear. Yes, Im frightened, I am terrified, that one day you will say that we must not meet again. You said it before, it took me a lot of courage to gig deep, burry my dignity, put the remains of myself together, and ask you to be “friends”, maybe I repeated “just friends” or I whispered, “at least friends”.

A few months ago, I thought that this was the best solution, at least we meet, at least we talk, at least we are together for a while. Yet it turned out to be utter torture, I still gaze at your beautiful eyes, I get lost in your dark hair, my eyes follow the movements of your elegant fingers as you talk. I nod, I don’t answer, all my answers will provoke you, or will put an end to this fragile one-sided friendship. I’m not a friend, I’m a lover, I have a failed short-lived love story, and it hurts, it really hurts to oppress my feelings with such cruelty. Why should I betray myself, to get a pat every now and then for being a nice friend?

I am writing again, confessing and complaining. I took a break from exposing my vulnerability, from crying loudly and presenting my emotions to each and every one. But this break did not help me at all, I still feel uprooted, unbalanced and absent. Yes, it is that feeling of absence that hurts the most. I have always been happy with whom I am, or that what I thought. But now, I am checking everything in me, trying to understand what was wrong in me,…I know that it is not about wrong or right, but only lovers have this kind of confidence, friends don’t. Sadness is a luxury that I cant afford, our love, our short-lived love does not and will not have many supporters, may be will not have any supporters, not even you.

The paper in front of me seems sympathetic, eager to listen and even curious to know more of our story, my story, how I wish that it was that easy to talk to you. I cant remember when did we last meet. You are busy, may be too busy these days. I don’t dare to ask, I only ask general questions, just like any stranger. A close friend sent me a message a few days ago, he said that I can grieve for as long as I can, but I should never start hating myself. Easier said than done my friend! It is not hatred what I feel, it is a kind of a feeling that I have never experienced before, maybe I don’t know how to describe it. Talking could have helped, but how, who would listen, and till when? Till when can I carry my love and cry, who would listen? In fact, I don’t want anyone to listen but you. I want to tell you that I loved you, as they say, from the first sight. Do you think I planned to fall in love with you? No, I didn’t, love struck me and I was not aware of the consequences, but now, I am staring at my mobile, waiting for any message from you, anything that will tell me that I came across your mind even for a few seconds, may be you remembered me and smiled, may be you wondered what would I be doing now. “When shall I see you again?” This is the message that I really want to see.

 

 

Can I meet me?

 

I must drop all the masks, all of them at once, let me face the scares, the rot and the ancient dead soul that I have been hiding by layers and layers of masks. I have to admit some were good, some were amazing and a few were mediocre, but they all worked. So, who am I without all these masks? Can I meet me, without the chaise lounge of my therapists, and without filtering my words and oppressing my rage? Just like everyone I have been rushing tomorrow, pushing today and ignoring the lessons of yesterday. Floating along life like aimless dirt particles, till I meet my end, but as the end is not here yet, why don’t I take a pause or even stop. Stop, just to understand what is happening, who am I? what do I need? And who are all these characters fighting in my mind. Can I be fully awake for a few minutes? They say we are our real selves only in our dreams, ok, I dream a lot, I love my dreams, but it is time to wake up now and face the real situation, face the reality for change. Let me start by my reality before blaming the others and whining about their actions and reactions. Who am I?

The beginning is blurry, just as beginnings are usually are. However, there was always that sense of fear, something bad will happen, a catastrophe will occur, and I would be responsible in a way or another. Silence and obedience seemed safe ways of dealing with each and every situation. Time passed, fortunately or unfortunately time passes, but there was also a sense of loss, a sense of loneliness and again that unjustified sense of guilt. The pace of life was boring, all what I can remember was waiting, waiting for everything, waiting for the end of school day, waiting for the end of school year, and waiting for something to happen, anything that can change the dead rhythm of my days. Everyone these days is bragging about the comfort zone, but they never mention the dead zone that I was living in. I had my dreams that were piled on top of each other, to be fulfilled later, but believe me old dreams worn out, and they leave you with a bitter taste and annoying feeling of despair. Since when did I put on masks? I can’t remember at all, but they worked, I was too young to remember, but may be this was a divine gift. A divine gift to every human being, I am not gifted by any chance, I am just an ordinary man trying to understand.

All my relationships were and are still strange, they lack something, maybe they lack honesty, or transparency or something I don’t even know. Are they superficial? I swear I have always tried not to surrender to superficiality, but as they say it takes two to tango, and I know that I am not a good dancer. For a big portion of my life I was known as “an easy-going person”, really? Was that really me? “Easy going” did I really want to go easily? What am I trying to do now, I am sure that I had phases of tranquility, serenity and happiness. Of course, my life has not always been that chaotic or pathetic. May be even during these phases I put on masks of contentment. 

It is very difficult to face my true self, especially if I don’t confront, but here I am, trying and eager to meet me. It is not a confession that I am writing, but a kind of attempt to understand what is wrong. One of my several therapists believed that I allowed the inner child, my mischievous inner child to control me, my reactions and my whole life. As if I was compensating him for the years of boredom. Anyway, although this hypothesis makes a lot of sense, but may be there are other factors. Maybe I chose selfishness over selflessness, but for god’s sake, who would choose selflessness, Gandhi or Mother Teressa? 

These days I am sleeping a lot, not sleeping but rather collapsing, losing myself to dreams, some are vivid and cheerful others are vague, but still, dreams come to an end. I wake up, think of all the things that I have to do, but I do nothing. I Try most of the day not to lose my temper, not to say what I really want to say, and when I stutter and finally say a few words of what I feel should be said, I regret this and keep being apologetic, I mean I quickly put another mask.

See! I am trying to distract myself again. Avoiding asking the crucial questions, and resorting to nonsense rambling. May be this was a start, a genuine attempt to reduce my anger, to train myself to speak up, and most importantly to forgive others. Others! Isn’t it too early to include others now? I should focus on myself, clear the rubble, silence the scary screams and then see what is wrong with others. “You should love yourself more” I heard this phrase from several therapists along three decades at least, I should follow this advice, and I should be wise enough to understand that “Self-love” is different than “selfishness”. May be all what I needed was a bit of genuine love, love that balances one’s personality and puts everything in its right scale and context. It seems that I will not reach the faraway shores of peace until I love myself unconditionally before loving others. I don’t know how may masks did I scratch today, and I am not sure which mask I will put on tomorrow, but I will keep trying to remove them all.

Frustration

 

Frustration! This is all what I feel, profound frustration, I just wish we did not meet, life was much simpler, much straightforward and much familiar. Now, I hate you and hate myself million times more, and it is needless to say that I resent every moment of love, happiness and hope I had with you or dreamt to have with you. I hate Cairo, that grey dusty depressing city that we both call home, with other 22 million desperate souls. Our God Osiris was cut into 14 pieces, and each was wickedly thrown in one of Egypt’s regions, his beloved wife Isis, roamed our land and gathered the torn pieces, used her magic, I mean her love, recreated her beloved Osiris for one night, they made love and created Horus. You cut me into several shreds, threw mw all over Cairo, to make sure that Im in pain, severe pain wherever I walk, or drive. You did not need magic, and of course you did not need love, to turn my life into an eternal abyss of misery, anger and regret. Every street and every neighbourhood in our dilapidating city carry a memory or a memory to be. We said we will visit these places, when the weather gets better, we will go to these monuments, what else can be done in Cairo, right? We mentioned felucca rides, in Maadi and also near down town, Ah downtown walks at night, that Pizza place, that tiny famous one, may be visiting the Museum before it loses all its belle epoque charm. Every where in Cairo has a piece of me, my love, my hopes to visit together, and my anger that we are not together. I should leave Cairo and its people in their destined defeat, and live my own tragedy. I need Isis to gather my torn pieces, all the pieces except my heart, I don’t need any more pain. I need Isis to blow her sacred breath, recreate me, a stronger man, a man who does not believe in love. Isis, I need your magic, and let your love be my last encounter with love. I need your love to bring me back to my old life, my familiar life, where I did not lose myself into a one-sided love, where I did not love someone who enjoys her life while I am dying every single day. Isis, the goddess of mourning, I beg you mourn my life and mourn my love till you feel that all this pain, all this sadness and all this anger deserve a new life.

I am frustrated, I need the magic of all the gods and goddesses together, I need to return back a year ago, before meeting you, before surrendering to love, and before losing myself. If this is my test, quest, or challenge, I admit that I failed in a legendary way. Isis, my goddess of mourning, wisdom and magic, why don’t you help me? No mercy for this lame man fooled by love. Why don’t you send Set to burn this sad city with all its humiliated inhabitants, why doesn’t the God of war, chaos and storms revenge for me, for my naivety, my love and loss. Hate, has such a strange taste, strong, irritating and disgusting. Im whirling within a tornado of hate, anger and a sheer need of revenge. I need my life back; I need it badly. You gave me memories, invaluable feelings, overwhelming emotions and then what? Left me with all this agony, awakened me and threw me to a horde of zombies. Why am I blaming you? It is me to blame, it is me to hate. No my love, no, today allow me to hate you, to hate you as much as I love you, to hate you as much as my heart can bear.

 

Good Morning

 

I sent the daily “good morning” message, I hesitated a bit while picking an emoji, a smiley face, or that one with the hearts, the face with the red kiss, or just the childish sun with its silly rays. I waited for your reply, you wake up early, I checked my mobile, after brushing my teeth, I checked my mobile after praying, I checked my mobile after taking my shower, I checked my mobile after preparing my coffee, I checked my mobile before picking my bag and leaving and I kept checking my mobile along the way. You can’t be that stingy with eleven letters, you could have sent an emoji, anything, you were online 10 minutes ago, why didn’t you check my messages? A few hours ago, we were together, in one of my vivid dreams, talking and talking and now you don’t even care to send one word.

I remember one day, in our beautiful beginning, we came up with a crazy idea, cant remember if it was me or you who suggested it, I was usually the crazy one among the two of us, but on that day we decided to pick a random day, a very random day, and if we are still together on that specific date, both of us will make tattoos. “But I hate tattoos…I can’t stand them” I screamed in a funny theatrical way, “no tattoos for me” I repeated while looking at my skinny arms and waiting for your laughs. You said in a decisive tone, “If we are still together, we will have tiny tattoos, may be the first letters of our names…” She smiled and added, “maybe you write my name and I write yours”.  We kept laughing for hours, about the shapes, sizes and fonts of these future tattoos, and we discussed where to place them and who will see them, and then all the laughs stopped suddenly, disappeared, collected their echoes and left. Yes, at that specific moment we realized that there are others, others who will need justifications for these names attached to our bodies, these names which are not ours, but we insisted on taking them with us to the grave, these names became parts of us, of our beings.

Still waiting for that reply, while trying to respond to all the messages of the “others”, those who clung to my life at different stages, those who became part of my life, shaped it, and owned it. They have rights in my days, and in my future, in fact they perceive them as their days and their future, these “others” wake and sleep reassured that I am there for them, and that they know all my feelings, dreams and hopes. These “others” did not know that I was struck by love, unintentionally, struck by love and I could not resist. These “others” fill my days with their needs, problems and noise, I am sure your “others” do the same. I will check my mobile, may be you send a reply.  

Christmas in Europe

 “Christmas in Europe…. You said before adding, “a crazy idea”. I love crazy ideas, what’s life without some crazy ideas every now and then.  Let’s go to Europe, let’s enjoy Christmas there, the cheerful decorations, the cold fresh breezes, the happy smiles and the picturesque old towns. We will walk for hours along the narrow cobbled streets, may be it will rain a bit to complete the magical romantic scene. We will take photos infront of every ornate cathedral, stop by window shops, pick a small mirror or a ceramic statue of an angel, or a small antique colored glass vase. Even in our dream, we know that when we return to Cairo we won’t have a place to house our tiny souvenirs, but this did not stop us from picking one. This is the beauty of dreams, they are beautiful, spontaneous and fulfilling. We will kiss under every tree, we will be lost in these kisses just as they do in the romantic movies. Long lustful kisses that will redefine the boundaries of love and love making as they call it.  We stare at the view while spending most of the day lazy in bed. No rush in dreams, no running from one monument to the other as I usually do, no exchange rates, no limitations on credit cards, no boundaries, no restrictions, no taboos. Only love and it’s freedom, our cultural baggage won’t burden us in this trip, all the people who fill our lives while disappear for these few days, they won’t leave any trace or a memory. The whole world will be you and me, and the old towns of Europe will be celebrating our love, this Christmas will be an excuse to celebrate love, to celebrate freedom, to celebrate dreams. Cups and cups of hot chocolate, loads of croissants and gateaux of every flavor, we both have sweet tooth my love.  We will sing together walking along the river, there will be a river in our dream, there has always been a river, we will sing cheerfully, our voices will sound funny, lots of inaccurate melodies, but we will be happy. We will be in the ( here and now) as all my therapists used to advise me. We will forget Egypt, our people, our lives there, we will forget the past and the future, we will choose love and only love to be our guide, companion and path. Years and years after this “Christmas I’m Europe” trip, we will keep remembering it, when we followed our dreams and lived as we had to, when we realized that nothing in life, nothing at all is more important than love, and when we decided to give love a chance, even for a few days in a magical setting. 

I don’t like what I am becoming!

Ages ago I read a sentence in a novel, I never forgot it and now I am surprised how applicable it is, “I learned how to love you and hate myself”. I can feel the metamorphosis, I am turning into a wreck, a huge ugly wreck surrounded by a tsunami of profound and furious feelings. I am frustrated, all what I need is to forget the whole story, and be able to return back to my life. I have been bungeeing between these two worlds for so long, and its exhausting. I stare at people with half dead eyes, greet them with broken smiles and wait, wait for something that will never happen. Then I remember that I have wasted my best years waiting for something good to happen, inshala it will happen, just be patient, stop being hasty, patience…patience, and frankly nothing happened. Or to be honest, a lot of things happened, may be more than I expected, and all these things created a life that I am forced to live, a life that suffocate me, a life that I have to be grateful for, a life that lacks life.

Will you ever love me? Will you re-love me again? I stuttered but you heard me, your beautiful eyes, your beautiful dark eyes met my tired eyes, not for long, you swayed and I asked, “have you ever loved me?” with a shaky tone, I added, “not even for one day?”. You stood up, said in the coldest manner, “you sound nervous a bit today”. “A bit” I wished to scream as I have been screaming on daily basis, I wished to tell you that I am on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and that I am just legitimately curious to know what happened. How did I live before my downfall? What did I do…. Questions, questions, questions,… and now I feel that all the words have lost their meanings, they sound mediocre, fake and provocative. How can words describe my feelings or the feelings of any lover, how can an arrangement of letter, ink strokes on paper, shapes put next to each other, scribbles, how can they express the way your love kills me once or twice a day. But will silence describe my feelings?

Yesterday I told you that I love you so much, again, for the millionth time, again, I love you. But what do I really want? Love, what is love? This is my eternal question, my curse and my death. I love you, I told you, I wish you happiness, I told you, I think about you day and night, I told you, I am afraid that you will forget me, I told you. Words lost their meaning, their effect and their echo. How cruel love can be? how long this love should last? what will remain of me afterwards? 

 

Madness

 The whole problem was that you wanted to categorize us, lovers, what is our relation? It is not enough, there are constraints, this won’t work, this will never work, no need to continue, it’s better to rationalize things, no need to meet anymore. Your love disappeared suddenly as a shooting star while I was still enjoying the vagueness of the whole situation. Lingering in a beautiful dream, which you have already left. Now we meet, we sit and talk, we eat, we send messages, but are we really friends? I can’t ask, I don’t want to ask lest I lose what remained of us, these meetings. 

 “The more I meet you, the more I need to meet you more”I wanted to send you this message a few days ago, but I didn’t.  I was afraid that you will keep silent, and I started to hate your silence, it’s humiliating. Why do we meet ? I mean why do you offer me such bittersweet encounters? You are not sadistic, I presume, so why…. Do you still love me? Do you still, with all your rationality, have mixed feelings? Am I too frightened to ask, to confront, to claim my rights, my rights in love, in happiness and in belonging to you. I’m weaving a beautiful love story in my imagination, only in my imagination. After every meeting a chapter is added, again, only, in my imagination. I know to where this will lead me,   Madness, total madness, I’m ready, I accept the legitimate fate of real lovers. I love you. 

The lover and the …..

I want to tell you a lot of things, all my sentences will start and end by “I love you”. Cliche? I can hear you saying this, but believe me this is what and how i feel.

But what is love? I asked you once and you eloquently answered me, but apparently your love did not withstand your own stubbornness, your decisiveness or maybe your wisdom.

I wish you happiness, that is what I am sure of, even if I am faraway, even if I am just a friend, even if I am not allowed to ask a lot of questions because simply it became none of my business!

Again, what is love? I reached your shores exhausted and desperate, after long aimless journeys, where I denied love, denied its importance, I even denied its existence. Oh, my love, it didn’t take me long to surrender, I was afraid, worried and I didn’t understand anything, and I’m still afraid, I’m still worried and I still don’t understand anything.

Is it a curse? What shall I do? How can I continue living with such a gigantic void? How can anyone live after being split into three, the one who denied love, the one who loved you, and the current one who has to live. But don’t they all have to live? Does one of them have to be forgotten, so that life, that mundane life, can be proceeded. I wish I could keep the lover and kill the other two, anyway I don’t think that the old version, this silly denier, is still here. The challenge now is between the lover and the short- love story-survivor. Did he really survive? I have been haunted for several months by the same question from everyone that I know or even hardly knew, “ what’s wrong,ha?”. How I wish to be honest and tell them that everything is wrong, extremely wrong. I wish I was brave enough to tell them that I accidentally met love, and that this is the only thing I want in my life, and that nothing, nothing at all worth betraying this precious, pure and profound love.

No, my dear friends this is not my middle age crisis that you were expecting it to be scandalous, and this is not a mental disorder that seeped recently and I assure you this is not an illusion. This is something that I have never believed in its existence, something that I used to make fun of, something that is killing me everyday. It’s a miracle that I witnessed, and no body ever told us what happens after miracles.

The lover or the survivor, who should be in control? The survivor is fake, faking that he is ok, hiding behind the sudden migraine visits, and complaining from the war, the devaluation, the traffic and everything except the only thing he should complain about. However, the lover is crazy, the lover is a wreck, the lover is pathetic. Who could bear his never ending questions, sighs and cries about love. They are all disbelievers just like his old version, they can’t imagine or accept that there is still a place and a time for love now.

How I wish that you can help or advise? Although I would not bear your rationality. May be you were too scared to continue, what was it that scared you that much? Boredom? That moment when the morning texts, the phone calls and the dinners feel like unbearable burdens. Or were you scared of our mood swings? The pace of all what happened between us should have scared me too, but that what happened, neither of us understood it then. The survivor, although no one survives love stories, is incapable of being in charge, for most of the day the lover is present with all his melancholy , vigor and pain. Here he is, the lover, writing so that the story outlives you both.

Move on!

 Love can not be faked, I know. Love can not be donated, I understand. Love can not be begged, I have to remember this. I have to be grateful, you are still keeping a few threads between us, the threads of friendship, that’s how you define our relationship. I have to shut up, accept this situation, be grateful and keep going with out short polite diplomatic almost formal meetings. Ah, I have to ignore any hints, any puns and if I refer to anything romantic I have to accept your sudden and savage silence for a period that only you know how long it will last. My friends advise me to move on, seal this chapter, bury this premature love and move on. Their advices are getting louder turning into curses and accusations of weakness, mental disturbance and even of being a pure drama Queen. I’m not pathetic, I have a life just as yours, busy life, dull life, fake life just as yours. I push the days, waste them waiting for a vague moment that never arrives just like you. I deal with those around me with the least amount of emotions just like you. Everyday I engage less and less with my surroundings, just like you. I’m not pathetic my friends, may be the only difference is that I was touched by love, and since then, and unintentionally my life is disintegrating. I can’t continue faking happiness, faking care and faking concern. The long hours of driving and singing, driving and making phone calls and driving and crying, suddenly seemed not to be enough. I need sometime alone, alone with all our few memories, I need to relive them for a million time, I need to relive the same pure genuine striking feelings. I can’t keep going on, gliding along the days like I did for the past four decades, i simply can’t. Even if I can’t live our love, at least I have to relive it, before I forget any slight detail, how you smiled when we first met, how you refused any compliment and how you were stingy with your nice words. I have to remember everything even when you were shouting, and your time vibrates with anger, did you say that we should never meet again? I tend to ignore this hour, I tried to delete it, but no, I have to remember everything. All these memories are not enough, and I don’t have the luxury of picking which ones to keep.  

Move on! That is what my friends say in a logical tone, with this wicked patriarchal look, move on! Apparently, no one will ever understand what happened between us. I’m doubting if you even understood it, it was too pure, too profound and too beautiful to be true. It was illogical to you, but this was the only way I would call this feeling “love”. My dear friends, don’t worry, I’m moving on, but I’m not alone, I’m “ moving on” with all our memories. 

Impossible dreams

Your kitchen,

 your living room

 and your garden,

 we spent hours and hours talking in all these places. They became the only places to where I really belong. A few months ago, I would be singing in the kitchen, teasing you while you cook, and insisting on helping with washing the dishes. I would be sitting on the floor in your living room stretching my legs and resting my back on your sofa, and every time you ask surprisingly why don’t I sit properly, I smile and tell you that I am simply feeling at home. I had plans for your garden, planting a lemon tree in that sunny corner, may be adding two or three bougainvillea with their crazy colors or waiting for the short Cairene winter to pass and then think of what can be added to the garden.

Everything now feels different, I visit as a stranger, my offers to wash the dishes now will sound awkward, spreading my legs on the floor now will look awkward, and planning what to be planted in the garden now will definitely be awkward. Guests should behave in a polite and even conservative manner, and that is what I have to do. What do I do with all my thoughts, that have turned into impossible dreams? Picking the peppermint from the kitchen’s window, don’t we have to stop drinking all this coffee, I would have….oh my god, I am even confused with the tenses, in my dreams, or simple thoughts as they seemed to be, I would add lots of mint and sugar and serve tea in large glasses, just like I used to drink it in Morocco. We would talk about our travels and as usual we would never finish any of our stories. I also wanted to check how cold the living room would be in January, I told you that I usually don’t feel cold, we would have mentioned the cold and the mild winters, and returning back to the winter of the revolution and may be we will go back even further to the winters of the school years. Who knows if I will still be welcomed as a guest in January, and even if I will visit you, I won’t stay till late, why would I? Watching a movie together, how can this turn into an impossible dream. Relaxing on the sofa, teasing each other, one of us would be fussy about the acting, the rhythm or even the genre of the movie. Or maybe we would have picked your favorite movie, or one of your favorites, I have always admired your taste in movies, ….in everything.

Here I am sitting alone, far away, answering dull emails absent mindedly while wondering what are you doing now. Do you miss me? Even for a few seconds? Do I visit you suddenly every now and then? Do you ever think of “What if….”? There are still so many stories to be told, so many songs to be sung, and even so many quarrels to be fought. This can’t be the end; this should not be the end. I am jealous, I am worried, and I am depressed, I can’t complain, what can I say, I don’t even understand what happened. Who would listen or understand, I was never perceived as someone who takes grave decisions, I have been lingering from one comfort zone to the other for so long, and now I collapse on a pile of impossible dreams, how accurate, impossible dreams!

 

I am sorry

 

I am sorry. I am really sorry. I bombarded you with all my defeats and traumas, and wanted a sudden compensation, I even yearned for a brand-new beginning. How naïve? I am sorry, I was inconsiderate, I told you that I was bored of your logic, which was the reward you got after all your long battles, all your wounds and all your noble resurrections . I kept bragging that I am the “day dreamer” among the two of us, but how this could benefit any of us?

Am I returning back to my senses…at last? Or is it this bloody migraine attacking me again? I am sorry, I acted childishly, I ruined everything and I can not blame you for anything. Was it the bad timing? No, I won’t blame the “timing” again, it was my hunger for love, my hunger for happiness and my hunger for another life. You knew that I was asking for the impossible, that there were hordes and hordes that would have been affected by our love. You understood the situation, while I was mesmerized by your beauty. “You killed your feelings towards me”, didn’t I scream at you once, or was it you who declared this firmly?

You knew that it was a mere dream, but I refuse to admit that this is the truth, and even if this is a dream, I don’t want it to come to an end. Did you call it irrationality? May be, but who heard of rational love? I remember that I once told you how I felt that I have been wasting my whole life waiting, waiting for things to happen, waiting for life to bloom and waiting for that sense of serenity. Sorry, my love, it seems that I was self-centered, overwhelmed by my own scary abyss, I forgot your own needs, your own fears and your own defeats. I am sorry. 

Gazing at you

 I’m still questioning everything about us. How do you perceive our love, or more honestly, my love? You are cruel, you are cruel, you are cruel. In fact your cruelty surprises me, amazes me, forces me to deny it. We sit and talk for hours, stories from the past, tales about people that I will never meet, I gaze at your face and travel in my dreams. I want to live with you every moment, it’s a shame that we haven’t met before, decades ago, where I would take place in all of your stories, where I would witness the birth of these tiny wrinkles around your eyes, the changes of your hair style including the crazy ones of the 1990s. You keep talking and I’m still gazing, oh god I love you and I feel that I’m losing myself in this love, disintegrating slowly into a wreck, a lump of regret and despair, a shadow of what I used to be. They say love creates better versions of us, I’m not sure. May be they meant fulfilled love, healthy love, love where both lovers build, demolish and rebuild each other again. But here I am, sitting alone, waiting for a miracle that can never happen. How pathetic it is to wait to be loved again? Have you ever loved me? Did your logic allow you to love me for a few moments? Is this what your love turned me to, a needy man? A lunatic complaining about love yet preaching about love. Haven’t I seen your cruelty before? May be it’s your revenge? But why…. What did I do? How can’t you feel these flooding emotions, may be you are overwhelmed, may be you are scared, or May be your are just tortured by your logic?

Serendipity

I remember these moments when we transcended into pure celestial beings, while others would have seen us drenched in the filth of sins. Magical flashes that glided as a dream where the two of us were totally lost, lost to be united, separated to be united, united to be separated and separated to be united once again. There was no you and me, then we were one…. One soul rediscovering itself and metamorphosing to the endless forms of life that ever existed or will ever exist. One soul burning itself and watering the ashes with the nectar of love, passion and hope to be resurrected again.

I remember, or shall I say we remember how serene the ambience was, it was almost dark, quite,   neither warm nor cold, it was perfect. The voices, the breathes and the sighs intermingled in an eternal dance of love. The caresses, the strokes and the hugs formed a chaotically beautiful composition, where crescendos and diminuendos collided cheerfully among our laughs and awes. Mesmerizing visions of roses, butterflies and birds of every color whirled around us, as enchanting aromas of the deserts, the fields and the mountains engulfed us, while million stars shimmered around us with their warm golden glows.  Serendipity? Definitely, this was serendipity. Bliss? of course, this was bliss. Heaven? Sure, this was heaven.

Now, what? Back to our earthly existence, we recall such an enchanting memory and sigh, was it a dream? Or did we really witness these surreal moments. I assure we did, we tasted a sip of pure love, we experienced a harmonious presence, even if for just a few moments, and let me assure you again, there were no sense of guilt and will never be any feeling of regret.

 

My Shehrazade

 

We sit together, you start telling me a story, one story branches into another one. I am staring at you foolishly, can’t move my eyes away, as I try to memorize how you smile timidly before allowing yourself to laugh cheerfully, how your tones dance suavely when you recall a ridiculous situation or a stupid reaction of someone you knew, how your eyes, your beautiful eyes, travel away in another world for less than a second. A world that I did not know, we were not together, a past, a past that may be one day you will tell me more of its details. I blinked and stole a quick moment to check the time on my mobile screen, I sighed while holding my cup of coffee tightly, and stretching my legs a bit. “Why do you have to leave now?” you asked, and this time I wanted to believe that you wanted me to stay, that you really don’t want me to leave, that it was me who is putting an end to such an enchanting meeting. I stutter, and reply, “I have to…” “But you ….” You stop and your smile vanishes as you move your fingers along the rim of your cup. You know what….I just want to forget everything and everyone, and stay where I am , next to you, and be part of these stories.

I met you after wasting long years in a mundane journey, I crossed barren deserts with no mirages and when I came across your lush gardens by coincidence, I realized that I am not allowed to stay. You were patient enough to show me that I cannot fight for our love, too weak, too afraid or just an ordinary man. Ordinary men don’t deserve such love. I regret meeting you for a second, and then I spend the rest of my day regretting that I regretted meeting you, I am sorry, but love is cruel, and I can’t escape the trail I have been dragged along, they say that there are people that I am supposed to be responsible for, that I have a duty, I have an obligation. They say, that whether I realize or not, but continuing such dull life is my quest. Some men are destined to wade in their lives alone, while bearing and responding to all the noise of those surrounding them, raise the kids till they leave, visit the doctors and take their vitamins, pay the bills and worry about their savings, these men are not allowed to love. Isn’t easier if they don’t believe in love? Denying love would keep them sane and content, and contentment is not happiness, not even close to happiness.  Is not encountering love would have been a real blessing? How can I keep whirling in my life now, knowing that we could have been together if… if only I was as brave as one of the heroes of your 1001 nights?

My Shahrezade is quite now, and I am still lost in the maze of her stories and the pain of my love. “Ok, I will tell you that story next time, but it may be boring…” I interrupt her quickly, “your stories are never boring”.  

Sisyphus

You turned me to Sisyphus, I wake up every morning burdened by your love, I carry it and ascend on the mediocrity of my life, I keep going patiently but at the end I realize that I lost your love along the way. You were decisive, honest and firm, you put an end to what you saw as a premature love story. Yet, I clung to this story as strong as I could. A curse, maybe it’s a curse. Wasn’t Sisyphus punished by the wise gods? But what did I do? What was my sin? Was it because I denied love?

 

Tomorrow will be another day for poor Sisyphus, who is tortured by love and cured by love. He will wake up for another spin in such an eternal hurricane of hope and despair. One day he will stop, stand still and refuse to take another step. It will be the day when the sweet taste of memories disappears leaving only a terribly bitter taste. O god, how do I fear the coming of such a day?

 

I met Love

If I want one thing to be remembered about me, let them say “he met love”. I did not find love, I did not know love, and of course, I did not understand love. I just “met” love, in the most unexpected phase of my life. I should be grateful, right? You once told me that some people live and die without knowing or experiencing such profound feelings. I remember how pragmatic you were at that moment, stating such an analysis while I was gasping for a breath of hope. I can’t deny, some people don’t taste this torture in their lifetime, some people live without dying of longing every day, some people continue living in a balanced way.

Why do I sound angry? You saw the whole story from a different perspective, and I can’t force you to consider a different scenario. No matter how much do I beg, but who begs for love? With all these thoughts whirling in my mind I’m questioning the meaning of love, what does it really mean to love someone? What do I want? I want you to be happy, simply I want you to be happy, even if we won’t be together anymore. There were moments where we were connected, brief moments, few moments, but they existed, there was no you and no me, we were together. I remember the whispers, the caresses and the relaxed breathes. I remember the peace and happiness engulfing us and I want more of these moments.

Am I escaping the brutality of our world by living the beauty of our love? Am I fabricating a surreal realm? I can see you smiling now, you have always accused me of being irrational. But how can a lover be rational? Again, what is love? Is it all these incomprehensible contradicting feelings, which include a bit of possessiveness? What do I really need or want if I already love you? Your love, really? But its not a transaction and it should never be. I love you and that is what happened to me, you should not be concerned. I wont even disturb you by repeating “I love you” again and again. I am sorry, I am mean, but apparently sometimes your love feels like a burden that I cant bear. I am sorry, this was something you should not hear.

“Do you remember when I told you….” No, no,  I should stop bothering you, “C’est finie” as they say. But still there is a faint hope whispering in my heart, telling me that I can earn your love, may be next year, may be after 10 years…. May be after you wade through one or two love stories, less glamorous ones than ours, I mean less glamorous than mine. May be then you will look around, maybe you will search for me, and I assure you that I will be there, waiting for you.

LOVE

“I love you”.It is not that whisper said in bed, not the one murmured indifferently between bored couples and it is not the one said carelessly by naïve teenagers. I love you; I love you more than I had ever imagined and honestly, I realized that I know nothing about love. But who does? Again, what is love? They say “beauty is in the eyes of the beholder” but I found that “beauty is in the eyes of the lover”. May be my love is creating a better version of you, someone who won’t hurt me, someone who doesn’t really exist, and most importantly someone who loves me.

“I love you so much” that was what I sent you today, too precious words to be sent via the cruel mobiles, too genuine feelings to be waiting for the cold grey Whatsapp ticks to get blue. “I don’t know what should I say” that was your reply, which was sent immediately, thank you! You are right, you are right with all your versions, the real one, and the ones I created and the ones I keep creating every single day. “What shall you say?” love doesn’t need an answer, love doesn’t wait for a reply and love can’t be explained or even justified. “I love you” is the beginning and the end of a very short long story. “I love you” is enough, does not need an answer, and definitely does not need a reason. So, what is love all about? Spending the rest of our time on earth together? Impossible. Leaving everything and everyone behind and starting over? Impossible. Lingering between heaven and hell? Im currently in that vague isthmus?

What do I want from you? With all your rationality and my delusionality, what do I expect. You saw the situation clearly, and realized that the story came to an end, and you mentioned more than once, that there was no story, but a possibility of a story, a faint possibility of a story. How cruel your honesty is? I wish you million things every day, and on some days, I wish that you taste that kind of love that is torturing me. On calmer moods I wish you happiness, and in other days I wish that you love me. Now I wish that you at least feel my love, my enormous love to you.

Apparently, it is me who does not understand the essence of love. Love does not need to be reciprocated, nor acknowledged. I once told you that it was not intended, it was not planned and I cant help but keep loving you. I sit here, faraway from you, wishing you happiness, imagining your smiles, remembering your witty comments and resisting sending you a message saying “I love you”.

 

 

I miss you….I miss me

 

I have been silent these past few days. I wanted to send you millions of messages, but I did not. I wanted to ask you if you were following what was happening in and to Gaza, but I did not. The world is a scary place, I am full of rage, and I am sorry to tell you that a big part of my rage is directed towards you. They say that the world is coming to an end, but I wanted you to love me a bit more, to fight for me slightly stronger. I feel that I turned into someone I don’t even like. Pathetic and needy.

Maybe you were right, I had a surreal romantic perception of how love is. A compensation for all defeats, failures and disappointments. But this is not love. You pushed me away, and unleashed all the insecurities that I had cleverly covered for a number of decades, or that was what I thought. Now, I am really lost, lost between two worlds, and can’t return to or settle in neither of them. Give me my life back, before knowing you, before clinging to your love, before turning you into a god. If you cant do this, take me to the realm of love, yes that thing that you called “surreal” “illusion”, whatever….take me to this world, and don’t leave me alone.

I am Alexandria

I’m Alexandria, you are the sea. You are Alexandria, I’m the sea. Alexandria is ancient, beautiful and graceful while the sea is massive, unpredictable and rough. Alexandria and the sea, an eternal story, a story of love, belonging and longing. Everyday the sea caresses the city, kisses its beaches and whispers to its sons. The city gazes at the beauty of the sea as it slowly crumbles. Some days the breezes hurts.

Alexandria, exhaust her and add wrinkles to her old facades. They told us the sea is harsh, didn’t they? May be this is how his love is shown? A possessive strong love that is eating the city Alexander the Great dreamy of. Alexandria, they say the sea will embrace you soon, it’s salty water will cover the wooden chairs of your coffee shops, the marble statues in your locked museums, the lovers, lunatics and beggars filling your streets. May be this is the price you had to pay for loving the sea. Every lover will pay for his love one day. Alexandria you loved the sea, and only god knows what will I pay?