Dearest Charcoal Blacks,
Taking a pen as I sit here on the table, with hundreds of words I can’t find the right one to start with. Where to begin isn’t the problem but how to begin, should I confess straightaway about my profound love for you or must I first tell you when it all began. I wonder if I fell in love the very day I saw you for the first time, while you carried those water cans too heavy to slip on every step, or the time you looked at me wiping mud from your cheeks. Maybe it happened the day I saw you cry for I had never felt a pain so heartbreaking.
Those eyes, those charcoal eyes, held me and I haven’t been able to shake myself free. I’m not suppose to think of the charcoal black sea behind those eyes of yours but I’m afraid I have lost touch with my sanity, or whatever that is there to bide one by laws and rights and wrongs.
Everyday you and I talk through our stares, smiles, smirks and shrugs; a whole language we have built and yet no one has heard a word. These deep conversations we have sharing her heart out from far away mean more than the countless hours spent talking to people who know me, but not my soul.
I admit even though all I know is your name and I’m sure you know mine, I feel like I have known you for years like even before I knew myself. Do I sound too hopelessly lost? Maybe I would when I’ll tell you one day I’m going to walk up to you and give you this letter, smile and even ask you if we can go for a dinner sometime. I can almost picture your charcoal black widening with a shock but not for long, as they would soon twinkle and shine allowing the creased lines around your lips to turn into a grin.
Do you suppose we can ever find ourselves a world where it would be easy to not be afraid? I can’t go back to the life I knew before I found your face, your serious brooding pale face with a certain kind of beauty that has become a dagger inside me. If anyone takes it out it would be the end of me; I can’t get you out now.
I love the way you laugh, often to let me know you are there, while pretending to talk to those around you. Sitting on the window with a pen and paper I do my best to draw you, but even my best fails to capture the devilishly charming air of yours. Chewing your lips, frowning, laughing and lost, forgive me for I have captured you and buried you in pages hidden in my copy of Mein Kampf. I can picture you laughing hysterically and raising your left eyebrow to this scandal.
Some days you sit alone waiting for your turn while others get waters filled in their plastic cans, chattering enough to not care for the time, leaving you and I with couple of extra minutes to talk in our silence but you don’t look up. I have often wondered the pain you hid when keeping yourself busy in smoke, focusing your charcoal blacks towards the other side of road not meeting my watery blues, I wonder if the pain, keeps you up at night like it does to me. I find no solace and sleep until I see you again, until I look into those eyes throwing a mischievous eyebrow at me daring me to say a word a real word, for then I know you are no more hurting at least not enough to disappear in vain.
I can’t recall how many times I have taken a step forward and two steps back, exercising hundreds of them, at one place not finding enough courage to call out to you. Do you believe I’m like them, one of them who call you nothing but a Jew like you have no name? I so hope my darling you know me enough to know I would never hurt you or belittle you like them; for all this heart of mine desires is the freedom to run to you and kiss those dazzling charcoal blacks that have imprisoned my heart, my flesh, my soul.
One day, my dear I will break the ropes, take those steps and pull you into my arms and kiss you deeply but not before I tuck back those loose strands of hair that often fall as a playful curtain over my favorite charcoal blacks teasing me, until your fingers find them and place them behind your ears. I promise I would love you, all of you, those charcoal blacks, those teasing brown hair, the frown and freckles, the lustful eyebrows and the hurt you wear all day, I will kiss them all one day.
Wait for me, even if you don’t get this letter, please wait for me.
Madly in love with you!
The curious blue eyes from the window.
Inspired by this music…
50 people who were unwinding, having a good evening after a long week, sharing drinks with friends or partners, are now never going to get to see their family members or loved ones because a man walked in believing he had the right to hurt them.
Here is what’s going to happen now:
1 – Some are going to blame it as ‘hate against lgbt’
2 – Some are going to blame it on the religion of the shooter
3 – Some are going to blame it on existence of guns
But in the end, we lost people and little more of, already in shortage, humanity. I saw a woman cry (on the news) because she couldn’t find her son, who was there with his friends and his boyfriend. She cried for the boyfriend who was taken to hospital with multiple gun shot wounds, she cried for the son who cant be found or reached and she cried for the horror of what it could mean. Gay or not, don’t matter, a mother lost her son.
While, my heart hurts for those who lost their loved ones I also feel so so sad for those who will now bear the brunt of one man’s action. His family, his son, his parents and those who are good honest and hardworking American Muslims with nothing to do with his hate.
There is no punchline or quote to give because there is just too much pain.
A dagger is stuck in the heart of mine
It moves like needle with time
They flick at it a little
It bleeds inside a litre
How it got there
No one knows
An organ within me it grows…
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Her heart is made up of thousand little pieces of pain, no amount of happiness can make the hurting stop because she was made to hurt with every beat of her heart.