Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --
because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep..
Prelude. Nostalgia. Yanni's violin weeps like stones on riverbeds and rain on crumbling mud huts.
We can't watch movies in Ramadan?
Because God isn't into Hollywood?
Because Hollywood isn't into God.
The rain outside gets faster and faster as I sit and decide whether or not it's safe for me to tell you much I miss you. The rain outside gets suddenly angry and I think about why this has to be so hard. Why you can't be like all those other boys who want to save up to buy all the wrong presents, want stolen phone calls and more than just promises of a lifetime together. I think of what she said to me as we lay on the floor thinking about all the choices we made, some good, mostly bad. "All the mistakes I've ever made fall into a vicious pattern, like a morbid Fibonacci series. We do this to ourselves, don't we? We pick up the most jagged stones and rub our hearts against them, because easy will never be good enough for us."
Don't leave me, even for an hour, because
then the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart.
What is marriage to you?
A promise. A promise of valuing someone's safety and happiness and health above your own. It's a promise of keeping someone's deams alove and wanting to build their dreams with them.
By your standards, we're already married.
You place your head in my lap and tell me how your parents got married.
Perhaps I was wrong. Love is that promise. Marriage is the realisation of that promise, service and sacrifice in the name of it.
Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,
because in that moment you'll have gone so far
I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?
I cried for hours on end on the night you died. I ushered you back. You came as a ghost, present but vacant. Like a marriage with someone you would give up the world for but who can never love you back the way you want to. I wished upon you another death. Talking to you this way is harder than not talking to you at all.
I retract conversations we've had, smell the words that were. I hear stories of guys who get jealous because their lovers take pictures with their guy friends and they hurt me. Sometimes, I nearly wish it was easier for me to deal with your disappearances and absences without cause or reason. Sometimes, I nearly wish this love was a little ordinary.