The other side of that last frame...

 

The other side of that last frame, the one with “The End” written on it, that is where I am standing exactly. Alone, silent, but not numb. I am ridiculously aware of all what happened, the whole story, how my heart and soul were recreated and resurrected several times. Like an ancient Egyptian curse, I survived our tragic saga. I passed through all the phases, and I hated myself several times, loved you again and again, and as I was starting to hate you, just as I was starting, I realized that I lost any feeling, I lost the ability to feel. You took a big chunk of my life and left, I know that you did not literally take it, it just followed you, it belonged to you, and could not stay prisoned in my absent presence.

I am not sending you any messages. I don’t really care about how you see the whole story. It became history, yes, I assure you, it became history. It did not work, and will never work. I can’t wait for years, I cant wait for things to change, I cant wait for you to miss me or consider things again. I lost my ability to love, whether this ability was a talent, an emotion, or even an organ, whatever it was, I lost it. I am still living, neither sad nor happy, but living. I am not looking backward nor forward; I am just living. No expectations of happiness I have to admit, but the good thing is that there will be no possibilities of pain. I have not got my life back, and I know that life will never be the same.

You were my baptism. But I lost myself in the process, physically I am still here, with the same naïve smile, and tired features, but something in me changed forever. I am not whining; I am just introducing my new persona. I have to befriend it, or at least I should not be shocked by its reactions, I mean my new reactions. I will take my time till everything settles properly. Now its time to clear the rubble, pant but keep moving, things will happen, am I not already relieved from the heavy burden of love?

What's more painful....

 

What’s more painful, waiting for a miracle that will never happen or accepting my fate. What’s the point of assessing every single word you say, analyzing every joke and calculating the time you take to answer my lame questions. What’s the point of the whole thing? I’m not sure who I became, too pretentious to be able to move on. I pretend 24/7 that everything is fine, that I can wait for a decade till we reunite, who promised me? 

You were harsh today. Your words, your tone and how quickly you replied, all this rage reached me when I was dying for a breeze of hope. I bored you, I know. I misunderstood your kindness and pretended that my plan is working. You are missing me, you are being nice again, that was what I thought. While you were simply being sympathetic and merciful. None of us is at ease, none of us is enjoying this phase, and none of us is willing to hurt the other, or that is what I hope. 

I desperately need to forget everything that happened between us, and roam foolishly around. It’s over, or it must be over. I have to return to the ruins of my life. Maybe gradually I’ll fit in it again, when you seem like a faint memory of a melancholic melody or an old romantic movie, maybe you will visit me as a half familiar half vague dream. I will always love you and I will always believe that we will never be together and I promise you that I will never surrender to love again.

let us....

 Let’s recreate our own world, the world of others will never suit us. Let’s cancel relations. Let’s cancel names. Let’s cancel time, yes please let’s cancel time. We don’t need to call our relation, lovers? According to whom? The others, those residing outside our world? Time has always been the enemy, the ticks of time means separation, one of us had to leave with a promise to meet soon. Soon was never soon enough. Don’t you know that I want to spend every single moment of my life with you. They see it as an obsession. Who? Those others, the ones who never understood love, or are not used to me as a lover. For them, I became weird, weirder than usual, I became …. I don’t really know and I don’t care how do they perceive me. Anyway we won’t have them in our world.

If only you give me a chance, one chance to revive our love story. One chance to enjoy the remaining time. Maybe I have a few years left, am I destined to waste them in such pain?

Apparently I’m not good at the game of ( imagination). Or your love is stronger than me, stronger but not that legendary love. That love of those who wish their lovers the best as they withdraw to wither away. Will time help me? Time, that wicked thing will it turn my love into a mature one, or will I just lose hope and treat our story as a reminder of eternal happiness, a preview of paradise. I can’t do anything but think of you, and ironically it seems the only logical thing to do. Where was all this love before meeting you? How did I live all these years without the bliss and pain of love. Anyway, all what I have to do now is to breathe, smile and imagine that we are together

The "Imagination" phase

 

I returned back to the “ imagination” phase. I imagine that we are sitting together now, spending our time together. Of course you noticed how I have been paranoid about the passing of time lately. Yes, I want to spend my time with you, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, maybe this will compensate all the years that we wasted alone, and with the insignificant others. I have to concentrate to create the perfect composition, to think of what you will say, how our eyes will meet, who will smile first, no, who will laugh first and how will it be difficult for us to say ciao. I will call you on my way back, that hoe I imagine. I will recall all the minute details of the day, the gossip and the stupidity of work, Cairo traffic and July’s heat. You will comment on the songs I listen to, and our conversation will divert again and again, we will start by Fairouz as usual and this time, I imagine, we will talk about Oum kalthoum songs. “ when will we sing again” I will ask and you will laugh as usual. I’m torn between our memories and my imagination. All the circumstances tell me that we could not have escaped, I can admit it now. But why did not we have more time together? Why did not we stay together to share our pain? Do I need that master scene where the lovers weep together before farewelling each other. That very last scene before “The End”. The cruelest thing about movies is that they don’t show you what happens after “ The End”, and now my whole life became that unknown phase. I imagine us in a road trip, a long one, singing together, laughing on the inaccurate lyrics and the strange tones. Our stories will interweave as we speak, I will tell you all what happened before meeting you and you will do the same. Even in my imagination sessions I ignore talking about the future, may be we both know that all what we own is that current moment. Lost in a ridiculous maze of thoughts, even my sub conscious is trying to avoid what is unethical, what would have been mean or unfair. My subconscious has a lot of restrictions, is this ironic or what? Now I understand why you ran away, I’m tangled in endless do(s) and don’t(s), it became my own tiny cocoon. How can I even imagine with all these limitations? Maybe I should start imagining the new me, the capable, the decisive and the one who is ready to pay the price. Was your love a call to liberate me? Am I taking a lot of time to understand that message or am I just ignoring it. A mirage that I’m chasing foolishly and running away from everyone else… have you understood all this with your irritating wisdom? Why is it taking me that long to realize that everything is wrong with me? Some people are too hopeless to change, I know, maybe they will have a better chance in their other life, I am ready for the process. I want your love to kill me, only if I will be resurrected with your love again

I was stupid

 

I was stupid. I have been trying to be as genuine as possible in everything and with everyone and this is the ultimate stupidity. This is not how humans deal with their surroundings and I’m a human being, a stupid human being. So? Have you learned your lesson? Is it time to start over, a fresh start with a new and normal mindset.

What you called masks, turned to be normal daily make up that people put, even men put sunscreen, balm and oil to their skin. You were the only one walking naked with your honesty and sins. Believe me honesty is tiring and repelling. People can’t stand honesty, it baffles them, make them question their own integrity and you know what we are all sinners, aren’t we? I deserve a break, a break from your love, from my memories, from our songs and artistic movies, a break from my dreams. Let me enjoy the mundane details of life just like everyone, laugh with others about mediocre things, get excited about silly stuff and get angry about everything around me in a calculated manner like everyone else. Let me be a copy of others, those ordinary people who accept the unfair rules of life, who surrendered to its absurdity and live their days without real happiness or real sadness. Apparently they are wiser than me, apparently this is how human beings live. It’s strange that I’m saying this now, as this morning I was thinking that I loved you just to empathize with everyone instead of being isolated in my own cocoon. You left me to feed me an unbearable pain on daily basis, this pain will show me how everyone else around me is suffering. I’m trying to justify my defeat, my wound or even trying not to blame you. Ok, no time to talk about you or your love, I have to get ready for my new personality. The one who doesn’t share his emotions with anyone, the one who knows how to hide his feelings and most importantly the one who perfectly acts as a happy cheerful optimistic person. Let us enjoy the new man and wish the old one eternal happiness and peace in another world.

It is Sad

 

 The whole story is sad, and it doesn’t end, although I thought that it came to an end. I was mistaken, drained? Yes. Bitter? Yes. But, I still feel the same pain, what is different now is that I’m tortured by both rationally and irrationality. Neither my memories nor my hopes have any mercy.

You proceeded with your life, I know. Now our conversations are expected to be friendly, nice and superficial. I can’t turn you into a friend. I simply can’t. Although sometimes a faint voice tries to convince me that friendship lasts longer than love. You are stubborn, and you love to prove that you are right, so even if you miss me you will never admit it.

You are the one whom I want to spend my time with. Can you see how simple, straightforward and even childish this sentence is? But this is how I really feel. After wasting all these months, I still have the same urge to tell you that I love you and that it doesn’t seem logical that we are not together. I forgot whom I was before loving you, and I’m still trying to understand this version of myself , the version that was created by your love. I have to admit that I’m not in my best state right now, I feel hopeless and tired, but even in such a miserable condition I want to recall our love, I want to imagine what would it have felt I’d we were together now. Together planning things, postponing things and cursing things. My imagination doesn’t last that long, and after a few minutes I realize that we are not together and that maybe you see me now as a friend and nothing more. It is sad, so sad. 

The collapse

 

The autopilot state worked for longer than I thought. I was expecting it to last for a couple of months at last, but here I am hiding behind my numbness for more than a month and a half. I feel lonely, worthless and ridiculous. I became the void that consumed every feeling and I became the echoes of my whining and i became the boredom of those who used to listen to my story. I blamed you for everything. I demonized you, and piled up every negative trait on your beautiful character. But I was deceiving myself and nothing worked, neither blaming you nor hating you and not even hating myself. What did my words convey? Nothing…. Vulnerability? Maybe. Longing? Maybe. Despair? Maybe. My words have been weakened by all what I have been through, my endless journey of denial. Denying that I loved you, then denying that I betrayed that love, and then denying that nothing in my life was alright. I dealt with the whole story in a foolish way, and now after all these months, I feel disoriented, totally out of place. My whole surroundings seem familiar but they don’t feel as home, I started to see the defects of my friends and family. Their defects are magnifying everyday, and mine are too. The world has to come to an end, as that melancholic feeling is killing me. Maybe it’s not melancholic, it seems to be real and pure depression. The doctors called it stress and anxiety that were translated into colorful scans, thick reports and endless prescriptions. Could not tell any of them about that continuous bitterness in my tongue, or that haunting sensation that there is no hope whatsoever, but which doctor will understand this. The psychiatrist ordered me to write everything, every single thing, he repeated this while sneaking at his mobile to make sure that he will have a few minutes for a cigarette before meeting the next desperate soul. Writing? What else should I write? 

The funky modern day gurus of Instagram keep mentioning the balance between the “ body, mind and soul”, I believed them, only when I realized that I destroyed my “body, mind and soul”. The mood swings stopped occurring, as now I’m in a continuous state of pretending, pretending that I’m busy, that I’m tired, that I’m worried, that I have a migraine attack, that I overslept or I didn’t sleep at all. Lies are easily stitched to other lies and I’m lost in the doodles that I have naively created. Maybe there are some moments where I swing between empathy and indifference, for a few moments or hours I feel the pain of every human being before returning back to my dead status, where all the good things were history. In one of my sleepless nights I realized that my one-sided love story is not that different from ( the little mermaid), I didn’t give away my voice, but I gave away my soul, and my will and hope for happiness, and my appreciation of beauty. I’m a carcass moving around, sometimes slowly, sometimes noisy and always moving in an awkward way. I became ill tempered, pessimistic and dull. Will I meet you with a hysterical smile, or will I successfully hide my wounds? Will we ever meet again? I still dream of that moment when I scream at you saying that I love you and that you loved me. You loved me first and you loved me genuinely and you loved me deeply. I’ll keep screaming till you confess, till you nod, tell you repeat the yeses and maybe I’ll keep screaming till you cry. I stopped crying and it’s painful. I don’t know when exactly did I loose myself while loving you, how did I completely surrender to these vague tides of you, it’s not your fault anyway. I was bound to such ungraceful collapse, and your love just caressed me tenderly, yet this touch was enough for me to crumble.