Reply by Maha Al Mazrou

Posted on November 8, 2013 by

0


She wears her skin like a warning sign, believing that her existence is nothing but a crime scene.

It’s all because she was surrounded with people, who knew exactly how to tie a noose around her neck and make her fade away day after day,

It’s all because she was stuck with people, who tried their hardest to make her believe that she’s but a mistake,

It’s all because she did nothing but dug herself deeper into a graveyard of regret and missed opportunities.

Until her thoughts became the anchor tied to her feet, that caused her to drown,

Until her dreams became all haunting ghosts under her bed,

Until she got deeply wounded by cruel remarks, and spent her life trying to stitch these wounds up with threads of insecurity.

Until her head got completely cleared and then filled with echoes of panic and total chaos,

Until she went dark and broken and became unknown in a world where knowing is everything,

Until she was lost in a maze of misplaced fear and self-loath,

Until she got to identify herself as the abandoned bag packed by the door in a rainy night, and the regret that drags the living to the pursuit of death.

 

I couldn’t help but to notice her playing on the swing, letting her legs sway back and forth lifelessly, smiling beautifully and humming softly while the wind gently blows her hair creating the illusion that it has a life of its own.

 

I was completely captivated by her heavenly smile and I couldn’t help but to gaze at her. But the way she averted her eyes from my gaze, making a screen of hair between her face and the outside world had me all suspicious.

 

I felt that her smile hides beneath it a countless scars, and she tried to mask her pain behind her smile but her efforts went down the drain because her pain was too severe to be buried inside her torn-up heart.

 

I couldn’t figure out for the life of me how one look, one glimpse of a smile, would make me want to save her from all the cruelty her world has handed her,

I swear if I could reach my fingertips into her ribs and mop up every form of anxiety and fear lying in her arteries and ventricles, I would doubtless wash it; I would wash it all out, until it depends on me to keep her heart alive.

 

I am baffled why she is magnificently wrong about herself. I could swear she knows more about creating than destroying.

She sadly believes she is a monster, always running, always hiding, always hurting, and continuously building walls of bricks between herself and those who love her.

 

I approached her and she said: “I became a woman before I had a chance to be a kid, I had to learn the hard way not to need a soul but mine; I’m always found looking up at the stars, collecting fireflies in jars, searching through old maps, to keep myself from taking those horrifying naps, in the vain hope I could find a home in an unexpected place, to finally shake the feeling that I am but a waste of space”.

 

Then she wistfully sighed and said: “I remember years go someone once told me if I look up at the stars and admire them each single night, an astronomer will fall in love with me, and spot the stars within my skin, and prove to me that life can be as light as it can be heavy, and I don’t have to carry its weight alone, but dark nights, and rushing, roaring winds are all there is”.

 

“I am a broken mirror with twenty-four years of bad luck running through my veins, and if you ever touch me just once, you will be broken” and my instant reply to her was: “I don’t give a tinker’s damn as long as we are broken together”.

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