Warmth is you.

Dedicated to something that might be too comfortable to express.

With all the little fights and strangest dreams. And one more sign of happiness that might start an uneasy screen-feeling.

My alarm rings 11 to reminds me of the time.

Dedicated to you, a heart that's closest to mended. Expressions easily read by a very critical audience. A certain black for coffee that helps you sleep, and a no-longer gloomy and morbid darkness
that stopped crawling into the flame of tacky candle-lit rooms of my own.

Dedicated to you, comfort in silence and forever feelings.

Pure, undoubted company.

Coherently, my love life.

To N, who might not enjoy reading this.

Like almost all the girls I knew, I fell for the seemingly "fixable".
I always thought that the best thing to do to a person is help them be the person they always wanted to become.
And I fell for a man who wanted to be someone else, but never really wanted to go on in becoming that person.
He liked himself better as is. And I couldn't understand that.
And I pushed, and he pulled.

And I found in Kundera's books better rationales for his betrayal. And I forgave him, and my best friend for making out when we had problems.

And then, I couldn't find myself again. In the street, I was without him. In my room, I was without him. In my balcony, I was without.
I was never alone after we separated, but always without him.

And then, I had to reconstruct the syllables in the word "friends", before I realized, a few months later, that the boyfriend sleeping with the best friend is actually a classic.
And it made me laugh so hard I cried.

And because first cut is the deepest, I built a whole theory around how I have to push myself to get over him so quickly.

In my mind I refer to him as FirstCut. He still has a part of me.
He has a big piece of the cake of my naivety with him, and a certain morning whiteness that belongs to my "innocence" which I never had.

Walking alone, I saw the right man in the wrong time. I refer to him in my mind as NewMan.
He hurt me by giving too much, and I hurt myself by draining myself in a relationship when I should have been in Rehab.

And i left him over and over.
And I took a long break. Eight months, it took me eight months to reconcile with the FirstCut before I could see NewMan as a new man. Four of which were away in a room that's a part of the balcony that looks on a beautiful scenery of sunset.

I hit my head against the four walls and asked random passers by to love me enough to stop.

And then I opened my eyes and could see NewMan again.

And I could love him again, differently.

.
..
...
But I never settled.
I never settled.

I always wanted what I had.

And that's, coherently, my love life so far.

Another Letter to You.

Dear He Who Shall Not Be Named,

Do you know that I write you letters every day?
I write you letters every day.

I'll never give them to you. They're to you, but not for you. Because I won't tell you that I love you. Because I'm such a desperate lover who writes letters left unsent.

I make myself laugh inside.

And I remember your apologetic smile. And I wonder if your smile was for me, apologizing for the fact you'll never love me back.

One day I'll give them letters to you, and you won't believe someone loved you enough to write letters everyday that will never be sent. And that someone loved you enough to keep it unsaid.

And then you'll laugh inside.

And when you're blinded by morning light
In the morning
You'll see the whiteness of the paper
And recognize
My love to you.

The Evil'ness.

This is so bad. I'm laughing inside as a kind of revenge'ish feeling. It's really strange. I shouldn't be that evil. Maybe I am! Heehehehehehhe. I seriously can't stop laughing. Sometimes you feel better when you realize that the drama of your life actually repeats with others, it's sad, but it's funny!

Yah well.
So, ME being the unpolitical, absolutely apathetic person that I am, decided to go on a demonstration.

Dad's reaction is like this (*with a frown*)

ليه يا بنتي كدة؟ اللي عايزين يعملوه هيعملوه و انتي وراكي جامعة و مذاكرة. و بعدين دول ممكن يكونوا عنيفين جدا.

I didn't know what to say. I decided to smile, and nod. I think it was a good reaction on my part.

And then there's the sweet one sided love mania going on. This is the first time I admit it. It feels good to finally admit it.

Sometimes I think, maybe this kind of love is my favorite...it lasts longer than any other kind. See, I fell in love with a guy when I was 13 and I never forgot him until I was 15...even though i DIDN'T SEE HIM DURING THESE TWO YEARS! I used to look at his picture and smile inside.

Well this time, I see him, and I see him often, too. I don't know him, not really. Something about him just speaks to me. I smile inside and tear at the same time when I remember him.

Impossibilities are amazing. Why? Because they draw a limit for you, it's a line, and it's thick. This line is where your powers end.

The Sweetest Thing.

The Sweetest kind of love is the love you'll never ever confess. The love that will rest in your for months, and you'll never say it because you know it's impossible already. It's the sweetest kind because it'll never bring you down, and it will always give you a thought to go back to when you can't sleep at night. It's sweet because you don't expect anything from anyone, you love because you love. Nothing happens, nothing changes, and you still love that person.
And you know you won't admit it because you don't want to. Find problems in him, say you don't like him. You know that he's God because you'll never reach him. He'll always be the though. The sweetest kind.
Lacan's love in the beyond; again.