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@erasing-past-writing-future
āI want love, but constant disappointment has taught me not to put my faith in it.ā
ā tara love
I want a home mostly just to welcome people into it. There will be bowls of candy for guests, and the cookie jar is full. Iāll always sayĀ āI was just about to make a coffee/tea/cocoa, would you like one?ā when somebody walks in. Thereās lemonade and iced tea made fresh on hot days. Once it hits That Hour and they start saying they really should be going, Iāll remind them that the futon is always open, and Iām making cinnamon rolls tomorrow. Thereās champagne and sparkling juice hidden on a high shelf just in case somebody announces their engagement or their pregnancy or their new job while theyāre here. There is an extra chair in the living room, at the table, and on the deck, and itās for you. I want to be able to sayĀ āif youāre ever in trouble, come to me.ā
āIn the last text I sent you, I asked you never to text me again. I spent an hour arranging and rearranging six words. Because I knew that if you did I wouldnāt be able to say no. You said there were other ways. That it didnāt have to be black or white, that you could change. I memorized the way that the corners of your mouth fit perfectly beneath my lips. And I asked God to forgive me for not being able to let go of that memory. It is hard for us too. For women. They think it is just the men. That only men grind beneath the fitnah of someoneās bare skin, but the veins in your forearms made my heart flutter. And I knew that one day, when my yearning for God overwhelmed my yearning for you that Iād have to shatter into a million tiny pieces to let you go. And when that day came, when my love for God was more important than stolen glances across a table of friends, or stolen kisses squished into the back seat of someoneās dying car, or brushing hands when no one was looking, I began to crack. When I called you on the phone that night to say it had to end, you said that if I knew how much you liked me Iād be scared. I was glad you couldnāt read my thoughts. You said,ābut, we are both Muslim?ā and those words made every inch of my skin red hot, because I knew then that you didnāt understand. āI knowā I whispered into the phone, āWhich is why we have to fear Godā āBut, we havenāt done anything haramā you whispered in a way that made me think, that you really did believe that, that were true. I thought of all of the Astagfirullahs I have said since knowing you, and thought of all of the oceans I could fill. Your voice got quiet, āFine then, we will just get marriedā but late night whispered proposals over the phone, are only desperate solutions for earthly pains. And we were not prescribed for each other, we were only meant to be lessons in each others lives. Lessons on how loving the poison of this Dunya can only break your heart, but that there is always someone waiting to repair it. So when it was time to say Goodbye, you breathed into the phone for two whole minutes before you choked out āplease donāt goā, and after I hung up I sat listening to the screeching dial tone for half an hour, Letting it tell me that I had done the right thing, but that I had waited too long.ā
ā Key Ballah, Sacrifice (via keywrites)
ok iāll say it ā¦ā¦.i need affection ā¦.ok damn
does anyone else get insanely romantically frustrated, like i know sexual frustration is a thing but sometimes i get super intense cravings for soft kisses or make out sessions or cuddling naps or things like that and itās way more frustrating to me than sexual cravings
āYou canāt lie to your soul.ā
ā Irvine Welsh (via naturaekos)
Photo by Annie SprattĀ