Palestinian women take part in a rally to mark International Women’s Day and to show their solidarity with female Palestinian detainee Hana Shalabi, who is on hunger strike, at the Qalandia checkpoint near the West Bank city of Ramallah, on March 8, 2012. (Getty Images / Reuters)
I know there will be risks, but I want to face them with you. It’s wrong that we should only be half alive, half of ourselves. I love you, so here I am, standing in your doorway. I’ve always been standing in your doorway. Isn’t it about time somebody saved your life? — Mary Jane
I miss you so much it hurts. I told my sister the other day that some mornings I wake up with tears in my eyes. She asked why and I said it was the dust. Or the bright lights.
Anything but you.
I tell myself that some day I’ll wake up and you won’t be on my mind. Instead, you’ll be next to me, your warmth surrounding my coldness. I barely lived before you stole me.
Then reality hits and you might as well be in another world because anything short of being in my arms is too far away.
All I see is you. Your beautiful eyes. The way your disarming smile threw aside, with such ease, the boundaries I had built. The way your voice filled with reckless abandon as you retold your stories. Your laugh.
I’d do anything to hear you laugh again.
I wish someone had told me that heartache hurt. That there was no boundary between emotional and physical wounds.
People tell me things will get easier. They’re all liars.
You are nothing.
You are my everything.