dear hands: i get it. you like writing poetry. but you can’t bring a metaphor to a gun fight.
You are a blessing,
like all the other
curses before you.
Hold on even when you don’t think you can, because the universe will hold on with you. All the planets will remain in orbit around the solar system, and the earth will keep rotating with respect to the sun, even when the pull of gravity seems too much to bear.
For every time you feel like you’re being pulled down and into the ground, when you want to sink into that ground and remain there forever, just remember all the planets and celestial bodies feel just like you do.
You are not alone. The entire universe is experiencing what you are.
And you will grow and learn and grow again. You will. The universe is constantly expanding and stretching. The fabric of space is widening. And so will you- widen in knowledge, in love, in ideas and healing. You will grow more than you ever thought you could.
It seems impossible to believe at this point in time, because at this point in time you feel stuck, remaining at a single pinpoint in space, never evolving, going nowhere. But you just have to wait with patience until you, too, begin to expand.
It takes time. But the time it takes is so worth it. Because if the universe had rushed itself and had come into being before it was ready, where would we be now? A mess, a disaster? You are not a disaster, even on the days when that feels like your only definition. Even a dictionary cannot encompass all that you are worth.
The universe is filled with dark energy that permeates all of space, yet look how beautiful and magical the universe is.
You may feel full of darkness and struggle and confusion, of exhaustion and disappointment and loss, of not knowing who you are, but you are beautiful and magical too, even with all the dark energy that fills your body.
You are not just a part of the universe. You are the universe.
So remember that.
You were never alone, and you will grow. You will learn and move on and be better.
There are poets who sing you to sleep
and poets who ready you for war
and I want to be both.
You are my home because you are the place I choose to return to over and over again. The place that, even when painful, means the most. You are my home because you have made me who I am, whether or not you realized what you were doing. You are my home because you showed me the best kind of love there is.
You showed me real, genuine, love-you-so-much-it-hurts-and-changes-me-at-my-core love. It was a blissful combination of finally feeling alive mixed with the most painfully difficult challenge I never thought I’d have to deal with. I didn’t know I could ever feel so strongly that I’d end up there.
At the exact instant you were born, when you slid from the womb and arrived into the world like the most valuable piece of luggage from the conveyer belt at the airport, you were several months from death. And at the exact moment you were conceived, you were literally a split second away from…
i miss so many places but i really don’t miss any places at all.
because missing a place is really a substitute for missing a group of people, a mindset, a time - an era of your life defined by your surroundings because they were different than anything else you’ve ever known. going back to the place won’t satiate the longing or quell the nostalgia, because no matter what, things have changed, and people have moved on and the place won’t be how you’ve left it. sometimes returning to the city or the country just adds to the emptiness of knowing that you can never return to those specific trips that shaped you; you’ll never recreate those memories fading ever-distant into your past. you can’t tug at the ever-flowing current of time to get just a few seconds back of that feeling of truly living that was inspired by the confluence of stars that brought you, those people, that place, those circumstances together all at once.
so the only thing to do is keep chasing, chasing that wanderlust, collecting more and more experiences that you’ll then miss equally sharply, leaving a trail of goodbyes and adding to the ever-growing list of places you miss, experiences you ache to replay, moments that define who you are. those places are home, even if they will never exist again the way they did for you then.
We numbered the days with
how strong the pain was.
We doused out hearts in gasoline
and kissed with matches in our teeth.
But fires die out and we forget
that it’s okay to stay in love
when it does not burn.
When I love you,
I really fucking love you.
There are no in betweens.
I don’t know what grey is.
My love is black and white.
the thing you are most
afraid to write.
When someone cries because you said something nice to them, they’re someone who you need to protect because they haven’t seen enough kindness in the world.
Every night in the month of Ramadan, Allah, the Blessed and the Exalted, calls out three times: “Is there anyone who seeks from Me so that I grant him his wish? Is there anyone who turns to Me in repentance so that I may turn to him (in Mercy)? Is there anyone who seeks forgiveness from Me so that I may forgive him?”