The World by Haifa Al Shogiran

Posted on May 29, 2011 by

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It was one of those peaceful May afternoons, a warm breeze wafted by carrying the sweet fragrance of jasmine mixed with the smell of freshly mown grass. Her high-heeled feet gracefully strolled the streets, her hazel eyes shining, anticipating a meeting mere minutes away

But the magic didn’t last, for he was not alone.

Sinking into the familiar softness of her bed, she wrapped her arms around her torso her back against the wall, seeking solace from its impeccable solidity.

Her eyes misted. Blinking, she willed the tears to fall, to glide across her eyelashes, to trickle down her cheeks. She imagined them tentatively making their first steps exploring this new territory, then slowly growing braver; starting to pour effortlessly down her cheeks tickling her lips, soaking her shirt, accompanied by this aching discomfort and strange euphoric release.

She wished for them to fall. Pleading, she squeezed her eyes shut, but in vain, for only one lone tear fell, landing on her right cheek to dry out as soon as it made contact. The one true proof of it’s existence is the salty taste it left behind.

How awful it is, to be betrayed by your own tears; to be doomed to a life of internal solitary suffering, to be denied this universal indication of pressing emotion, to be stripped of a basic tie to humanity. How cruel is it to be thought of as this stone-like indifferent person; always cast aside. No one aware about the raging war going on inside, the long tear-like gashes brand her soul, stinging ever so often, a restless reminder.

Still holding on to a glimmer of hope she lay there, waiting, endlessly waiting for the tears that never seem to be coming, for that built-up pressure finally being relived.

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