I think it’s going to be one hell of a trip. Pockets are full
and the tank is filled up with fuel. My bags are all packed up and I took a
camera just in case. It’s a vacation trip, it’s a work trip, I’m really not
sure what it is… I’m leaving my home to live far away; where I’ll be nothing
but a simple immigrant.
I think it, hoping I get to live it. Do my words always have
to make sense? Does life have to be as straightforward as directions? There is
what I mean when I write, there is what you think I mean when you read and
there is what I want you to think…
I’m walking through the white sands of the filthy beach.
Barefooted. My thoughts are at base. No rolls, no fire… just those beautiful
words in Arabic.
My love for you is an illusion. It’s a picture I painted in
my thoughts. Amnesia. I lost the image, I’ve lost you. Maybe there was never a
you because you were never the you I thought I knew. You lied. If I really meant
that much to you, you wouldn’t have let me slip away.
You gladly shoo me. Tell me to run along… you watch and smile
because he is right behind you, holding you so close. Did I ever exist? You
don’t seem to exist here. You never did have a place in my heart because you
sold it to my solitude.
I think it’s time I walk away. I’m coming after you because I
don’t want to die here. I want you in my arms when I die. You belong in my
arms. Love, fear, hope… I still believe you are probably the only solution to
my worried heart…
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