US

Wistful yearning

US
By Amna Ameer
Fri, 05, 20

Lying in bed in the afternoon sun, with the shadows of spring trees playing hide and seek outside....

DEAR DIARY

Lying in bed in the afternoon sun, with the shadows of spring trees playing hide and seek outside. The rays of crimson sunlight waltzing over the walls. And dreams taking the sweet scent of summer evenings approaching quietly without a noise. And sleep softly blanketing all the chaos of daily routine and replacing it with an innate calm.

Waking up, in safe arms. Knowing where everything is placed. How the bedsheets are spread. Where the scent of food is coming from. How the noise of children playing outside fills up the room. And you walk out past sunset. You watch the eyes glisten as soon as you enter. You feel wholesome. Like you have suddenly found life in their laughter and your peace in their silence. You rest in between the words of their sentences. You find comfortable places to keep your scars hidden under their skins. You become one with them till you’re not just yourself anymore. You’re a part of them. You lay your head in their lap. The ceiling fan is turned on and the wind outside is warm, but the couch is cool. A breeze flows over you as you catch words from under their breath. You talk incessantly without a break. You let every idea be heard. Each insecurity voiced. Each failure explained with remorse, yet received with such pride and love. One by one, put at ease. Everything that was once circling continuously is now settled inside. Like a child made to sleep with a lullaby. You find your heart nurtured. Nestled with the blooming bushes outside. Cradling in the wind. All you ever doubted. All the loss you ever experienced.

You feel a soft kiss on your forehead. You close your eyes and let it last. As though you have etched in your memory the feeling of unconditional love, so that you know what it’s like. So that you don’t ever forget. So that you don’t ever confuse one for the other. So that when you look back each time, you smile.

You look at pictures of people, framed in that moment for eternity. You reminisce their presence in your home. You trace them back to their memory. You let the stars once again be connected into this shared fate of a past that seems near enough to be touched and far enough to only be a memory. You let this memory adorn itself in its best clothes. You put on its finest fragrance. You apply henna to its hands and hair that have gone grey with time. And you ask it to sit in the basement lounge. And then the conversations flow in like the waves of an ocean that had been lost for years. Soon the drowning sentiments find themselves ashore, beside the letters saved through time. The lettering binds them together. You hold them to your chest. You see the lettering blur in front of your eyes as your tears well up and you try to pull back. The words are here. The pages tainted, but still intact. The memories still run from one room to another. As you try to catch up. But the people you once so fondly knew growing up are gone.

You let the sadness fall over the tea cups. It settles with its hue. Yet it isn’t bitter. It tastes of life. And everyone you hold close senses it. They let the feeling roll over their tongues and purse their lips. Silence flows through to make room for your words. But you can’t say a thing. And they voice it for you. They too feel lost. They too can’t bear the pain. They too know what it’s like to be held when broken, so they hold you in their arms.

And that’s what you’ve been yearning. To be held without being asked. To be understood without saying a word. To make it all right to be broken. To let life in despite the odds. You look at the time and you know it’s time to say goodbye. But you don’t. Because it’s not your choice. You let the waves crash in and you let the wounds light up under the moon. You find your way to where you once were even though it’s not to your home.