Ramadan Journal '19 | Week Two
19:06
Like clockwork, I stumble, bleary-eyed at 3am into the space shared between you and I and the crack of dawn. The faint pastel blue breaks across the horizon and the chill of the early hour makes me shiver. My shrivelled heart lies heavy and ill and maybe I should feel the weight of it take me down but instead, I feel your presence lift me up. My heart finds itself guided to its maker and when they connect, it's a cosmic gift made of silver linings and stars of fortune and the black hole I so often find myself swallowed up by, ceases to exist.
A new dawn, a new day. I look into the mirror as the sun rises, its rays hitting the glass and my reflection glows. Because the girl looking back at me is a version of myself I didn't even know could exist. Her charred pieces are a thing of the past, her vices put to bed, her energy pulsing with something not quite of the ordinary. She is whole. She has found her way home.
And, later, when I can feel the exhaustion settling into my bones, I wonder why she doesn't give in to the fatigue that even caffeine can't reach. I wonder why she doesn't slip away, out of sight, out of mind...a phantom that only comes out to play when she feels bolstered by your presence, flirting and teasing with the phases of the moon until you disappear. I am halfway convinced she is merely showing off, playing the obliging host while secretly ticking down the days behind her back.
But I catch you smiling at my chapped lips, the dark circles under my eyes and the weariness that seeps into my movements, a barely concealed pride as you silently discipline my five senses, sharpening them to razor-fine points - and she is the prize to show for it. And you are determined to make her stay.
A new dawn, a new day. I look into the mirror as the sun rises, its rays hitting the glass and my reflection glows. Because the girl looking back at me is a version of myself I didn't even know could exist. Her charred pieces are a thing of the past, her vices put to bed, her energy pulsing with something not quite of the ordinary. She is whole. She has found her way home.
And, later, when I can feel the exhaustion settling into my bones, I wonder why she doesn't give in to the fatigue that even caffeine can't reach. I wonder why she doesn't slip away, out of sight, out of mind...a phantom that only comes out to play when she feels bolstered by your presence, flirting and teasing with the phases of the moon until you disappear. I am halfway convinced she is merely showing off, playing the obliging host while secretly ticking down the days behind her back.
But I catch you smiling at my chapped lips, the dark circles under my eyes and the weariness that seeps into my movements, a barely concealed pride as you silently discipline my five senses, sharpening them to razor-fine points - and she is the prize to show for it. And you are determined to make her stay.
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