Light/Yet by Rania Ghazal

Posted on May 11, 2014 by


It’s 3 am and we’re running down a dark hallway, holding hands like one of us might disappear. We press our bare feet against the cold floor, careful not to get caught by a nurse, or worse, my parents. I’ve been here for two months and I still can’t stand the smell of hospitals. I close my nose and breathe only through my mouth. We finally reach the back doors and slip into the night. Laughing hysterically, we breathe in as much fresh air as we can. This is the closest I’ve ever come to being rash. He wraps his hands around my waist, resting his head against my chest. It’s completely quiet. The only sounds we hear are the occasional cars passing by. I’m slipping through his fingers but he still holds on, no matter the mess I leave behind. For the past year, my body has been falling slowly onto its knees while his tired spine pushes to keep me upright.

And it’s when we brush our fingers against each other and cars flip off the road and the electricity goes out for a while that I believe in beauty in the breakdown. Dressed in the moonlight, we fold into each other for what feels like hours. “It’s time to go” he whispers.

In a few minutes, I’m having a surgery that will probably kill me. I’m sitting on a hospital bed, thinking about how much I hate these stupid gowns. A nurse comes up to me and asks me lay down. She tells me it’s time for the anaesthetic and that I should count to ten backwards.

Ten. Intimacy was the way you kissed the pulse on my neck and cried ‘I wish I was the sick one’ over and over and over. Intimacy was the way I started liking my name when you sighed it into my mouth the day you found me collapsed on the kitchen floor, half unconscious.

Nine. Before you was swallowing oceans, after you was refusing to drown

Eight. I cut my finger, and you were the one that bled

Seven. And as I felt my insides turning into dust, being with you was like taking off my body

Six. The ringing in my chest is not a siren anymore, it’s you

Five. Light. You were my light.





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