It is attachment

 

“It’s attachment, this is not love. This is attachment” my friend’s voice was trembling over the phone. There was a strange sense of triumph in the air, or maybe a faint tension of an expected argument, a long and heated one that she was ready for. I paused longer than I should and then said, “ yes, it’s attachment. “ 

Are we arguing on terms now, so am I getting my world back if I admit that it is attachment or it is even a psychological need? Does love irritate you that much? Each and every one of my friends is either telling me bluntly or indirectly that first, this is not love and second, it will take its time and go away. So apparently you perceive love as either an illusion or a virus that if it really exists it will take its time. No one told me how long is “it’s time”. I hope that my friends are now happy and content with their wise advises and invaluable insights to my life and feelings. 

I miss you. How can I explain this to you, how can I describe it, if I don’t even understand the intensity of this feeling. Most people made fun of love, others denied it, I was one of this group, I treated it as fiction, just exaggerated cliched words that suit teenagers and other bored middle aged people. I haven’t asked myself if you could be related to either group, what was love for you? With all your rationality and experience how do you perceive love now? Or how do you see my love, do you consider it an attachment? 

Attachment to what? To a world of happiness… who won’t be attached to such a world, who would let this love be lost, who won’t fight to keep such love.  Everyday pushes my memories away, and pulls me towards an unknown path, where I am lonely among my people. Attachment! You say, ok how can I be cured? 

I miss you

 

Again, the words seem unable of fulfilling the only purpose they were created for. Cold, helpless yet provocative, they appear in front of my eyes, to remind me of my situation. Alone, missing you, unable to meet you, can’t call you and unwilling to send a message where all my emotions will seep along the way, till you receive the lame letters that mean nothing. 

What am I waiting for ? Really, what are my options? A miracle, I loose my memory or this cycle of my life comes to an end? I prefer to be waiting for a miracle, one in which you realize that we can not not to be together. I’m not very keen about the different scenarios or the cinematic moment where we will meet, talk and realize that you did not stop loving me for a single day. Nothing of these details is important, I’m talking about a miracle here. Maybe the miracle is that I will realize that all what I have been through during the past few months was a nightmare. One long cruel nightmare, but it’s over. I will wake up, call you, pass by you and we continue our conversations while you cook, I’ll be setting the table while making fun of your meticulous way of doing everything. I will eat more than I should, as always, time will pass quickly as usual and I won’t be gazing at your eyes, or pausing at everything you do, why should I ? I don’t have the paranoia of losing you, of being kicked out of your world. We will sing, I mean we will try to sing, and unfortunately I will have to leave. Even the goodbye hug won’t be as long or as strong as I have been dreaming of for months now. Why would it be, it’s just a normal goodbye hug and we will meet in a couple of days or even the next day Inshala. 

Yes, it is a nightmare, and the worst thing about nightmares is when they become familiar. I wake up, do whatever should be done, sleep to wake up again, I say the same bla bla bla and stay silent for the most of the day. Only day dreaming is saving me from severe depression. As the world is collapsing around me, wars, disasters and financial crises I must be grateful, and I must keep silent, as who wants to hear a one-sided love story?

My stories

 Any man is a mere collection of stories. His strength lies in how he keeps his stories untold. In our meetings I let go of one story after the other till I became vulnerable, predictable and even worthless. I can see my stories piled by your feet in your living room, tangled, collecting dust and forgotten. 

Once a story is told it loses its significance and charm. May be Adam and Eve were kicked out of paradise as soon as they told all their stories. It has always been about words, everything is shaped by these magical creatures, the sounds that convey our fears, ideas and feelings. I still have words by my side, they are my faithful companions and my only way to recall your love. Will your spell be broken when my stories are forgotten? Will the whole story turn into a past, for both of us, for me at least. Would I ever remember you, smile and move on? 

I lost any perception of time, I’m just passing by the days, weeks and months. I monitor what is happening in my life and around me absentmindedly, and it’s ok. Nothing makes sense, nothing feels right and nothing seems familiar. Maybe I should not have said all my stories, haven’t I been silent for ages? Now, I have no interest to talk if the conversation is not about you. I find solace in my silence, at least I hear the echoes of our conversations and the rhythms of our old laughs. Stories, silence and echoes, the trinity of life, death and resurrection or maybe life, death and all what is remembered. 

The question

 I love you

That’s how I feel every moment of every day. I can’t send these words in a WhatsApp message, I can’t even imagine your reaction, the extreme indifference, the seriousness that cover your face for a few seconds before you move on as if you heard or read nothing. What can I do with all this love? It is beyond my comprehension and beyond my ability to keep going. 

I try my best to focus on what I’m doing, but my best is not good enough. Memories hit me ruthlessly, music became cruel, and everything is shouting that we were together. How can a black short ruin a whole day? Remember that short, you told me I look cool, then you blushed. I did not pause then, I talked about my history with shorts and hatred towards pants, and I simply was being myself. 

Each of us has his own personal path in the journey of love, but I need help. I need someone to tell me what can I do when I wake up in the middle of the night missing you, wanting to talk, talk and talk, and needing to be with you. Tell me what can I do when I feel a strange strong need to tell you I love you. Just like now, working and all of a sudden I had that urge, “I love you” this message may irritate you or bore you. 

A close friend told me recently that he feels bad for my therapists, he was laughing but he meant what he said. I smiled sluggishly and preferred not to tell him that you are my only therapist. I used to tease you about telepathy, I swear if telepathy works between us you would fall in love with me again and again everyday. But where does all this love go? I can’t hide it and can’t carry that sweet burden of love alone, and I can’t limit our WhatsApp conversations to the weather, work and exchange rates. My therapists will say the answer is acceptance, that’s their answer for every problem. Or they will ask, “and now what do you want?” And that is the question. 

My calendar

 Stuck between the columns and rows of the calendar, I feel lost between the past and the future. Counting the weeks will not help, as there is no guarantee that we will be together even if we meet. Returning back a few months ago is impossible, undo-ing all what have been done and said is another miracle that I pray it occurs. How many miracles I’m praying for? 

Every month is marked by when we met, when we fell in love and when I was left alone in a scary void. I can start my new calendar I will rename the months, Serendipity, luck, love, happiness, bliss, fear, shock, pain, loss, grief,madness and death. My year will start every July by the month of serendipity, how I wish that it is the only month that keeps repeating over and over again. Who wants the months of pain, grief or even death? Time is my eternal enemy, and what a cruel and ruthless enemy time is. 

Years ago, a wise Indian friend tried his best to explain that time is linear. After asking him more than once to clarify, I started nodding as if I got what he was saying. Apparently he was trying to tell me that everything happens at the same time, there is no yesterday, no today and no tomorrow, and it’s only our own perspective. I wish I asked him again and again rather than nodding, I wish his concept was true and that time is …. I don’t even know how he described time. But if I can select one moment it will be that specific night when we kept talking, talking and talking. Our conversations were too general as if both of us intended to stay away from anything personal, or anything that can be regarded as sentimental, from politics to careers and travels time whirled around us quickly. As we were leaving, we both realized that hours left without saying what we really wanted to say, our gazes and happy smiles meant that there will be more and more to say. Can I pause in this moment? The moment of hope, happiness and love. Can I recall my feelings of that moment everyday? Can I be satisfied of having such profound feelings and maybe according to my Indian friend, once I lived a feeling I am still living it.  If so can I erase a specific day with all its incidents, feelings and consequences? 

Your beauty

I want to keep talking about you, about your beauty. It’s not about your features, your dark eyes with the mysterious looks, no, no, I will not talk about this kind of beauty. What mesmerized me from the start was your inner beauty, the way you deal with others. It is that unique mixture of pride, refinement, elegance and kindness. I may add stubbornness too! They say opposites attract, and we are separated by oceans of differences or even contrasts. I have always been impressed by your discipline till it put an end to our love story, didn’t it? The logical way in which you state your point of view no matter how provocative it is. The decency in dealing with everyone, you have a flair of seriousness that hides a great sense of humor. O god, I miss you so much. As time passes by I realize that I have already lived me life in these few moments that we had together. My whole life was compiled in intensive doses of happiness, and I wasn’t able to believe such a bliss. So, what do I have now, memories and a mighty love that defies any logic. If only I can repeat one day again and again, not as a punishment, but rather as the moments of life that worth living. Or will this be our life in paradise? The more I wade alone in our love the more I realize how impossible it is for lovers to live on earth. How can love survive the daily distractions, stresses and disappointments. A love like ours is not created for this life, May be I was too fortunate to try the taste of heaven, and apparently such overwhelming sweetness is blowing my mind. 

It’s all about your beauty, the beauty that I saw, that I felt and that I loved. You used to cover it by a thin layer of indifference but I saw it, I saw how caring you are, even in the simplest acts, whether recalling a story or even preparing a cup of cofffee. I told you more than once that I was intimidated by how serious you can be, I felt like a jester, but maybe because I didn’t have any hope of being in love with you, I was acting normally without the anxiety of the need to impress you. I was being myself and we fell in love. Your version of the story states that you controlled your feelings when you realized that this love won’t work….. But, I don’t like this version of our story, it doesn’t make sense. I need to go back to that phase, when you didn’t control your feelings, when you didn’t start predicting whether our love will work or not. Let me relive these moments again, let me feel your love, and see it sparkling in your eyes. Till a miracle happens, I will just keep talking about your beauty, the beauty that destroyed my world.

 

All I need is you

 

All I want is you. 

No, all I need is you. My whole world is shrinking and it seems that it all revolves around you. You became the only one whom I think of, and want to be with. Daydreaming became my new ritual, and it’s all about you, or you and me together. I am living like a lazy zombie, i eat, sleep and go to work but I only become alive while thinking about you, only when I imagine our conversations, how we comment on our cruel world, how we plan for things and how you tell me about your favorite songs and movies. Daydreaming is exhausting yet addictive. Sometimes I miss my previous life, when things were bland but clear. When I used to enjoy my loneliness, I even used to praise it. I felt content with what I had and wasn’t aware at all of what I was missing. 

Love, how can it be that cruel? I’m losing any ability of understanding my situation, although my few friends believe it’s an obvious “pathetic psychological condition”. I am begging for a break, a short break to gather what remained of my life and what remained of me. I miss enjoying the cloud formations, the birds chirping and the taste of ice cream. Sometimes I want to scream ( I want my life back) with all its simple pleasures, the happy moments that I had, alone. But I can’t admit that I want my life back, if I will ever scream, I’ll say “I want to spend the rest of my life with you”.