Catharsis I
IF I COULD EAT BOOKS! (the pile of philosophy books glowed in my hand as I walked back from the library to my dorm–I CAN’T WAIT TO EAT THEM!)
I would do it in a bloody frocking second. BLOODY- (Laughs) what a funny word.
oye I am such a heretic, it’s horrid. I fasted today and I still write words like “frocking” damn it. (digging myself a hollllllle).
Not last night, but the night before I wept.
Wept.
Like I haven’t in a long time.
There I was, reading the Qur’an.
In this personal capsule, where there is only your voice to be heard. I realized there was this gap in my heart.
“My deen is kindness;
my mosque is nature;
my God is a love deep inside”
Rings so true. But this love deep inside which use to be so great, so vast (or at least I look but and think it was) seemed so empty. I should be feeling Allah within me. Instead there was a vast expanse of wasteland… I looked inside and saw this ill-fitting and ill-equipped landfill, with things and people jetting out because they weren’t really suppose to be there. Allah (swt) was. This love I had for this man… was I trying to fill the gap of closeness and love with Allah with him?
At first my love seemed so pure, so kind–I was so thankful for even the pain because with it, it made me strong, fervent, intense, potent, fierce in a most gentle way and the best thing… it made me love Allah so much more; I felt passionate with thankfulness. Gratitude was ingrained in my skin.
However, the more I let him know… I look back and I think he recoiled–it happened so fast. (Heavy lump in my throat).
He grew less responsive and I more frustrated until it wore me down, and made me feel ghastly. Thus when I recognized this dependence on him I couldn’t be more appalled at myself. What a hideous and needful creature I had become. How dreadful that my happiness had relied upon someone other then myself and Allah (swt).
So I have stopped talking to him, knowing he had a great time with me, seeing if he really does love me. Care I know he does, but love… it teaches humbleness and patience–if he still retains his arrogance and pride in that he can’t even inaugurate a conversation with me then he does not, in fact, love me.
So it’s felt like a long time since the last time we talked–perhaps 3-4 days? Indescribably long considering before missing each others company for even a day was an abnormality.
I can’t love someone who doesn’t return my love… I am the type to move on… or at least I think I am.
But just by not talking to him for a couple of days I feel the dependency upon him lifted–I know I can live without him but I am still in love with him. I feel happy… that this dependency has lifted from his burdened shoulders. Nevertheless, he doesn’t know that.
And I simply wait.
I wait for him.
But perhaps if and when he comes around I won’t be there. I know there will be others, my brain is not so naive although my heart contends with it often. However, my brain knows myself.
It is an oddity. People have asked me where I have traveled. With a playful laughter I respond, “In my heart and in my brain; but not so much the latter.”
These idiosyncrasy I have become; anomalously searching his name, looking for just an image, an entry, a video–of him. And as long as I can do it in the privacy of my heart and computer; trying to appease my curiosity, love and caring for him… I have become fine with it.
And the realization comes upon me with a tinge of truth… much like a revelation came upon me as I wept with my eyes, nose and heart all over my Qur’an: that perhaps I will never have that feeling of Allah in my heart but I’ll live with a memory of it… the same way the recipient of my love does not return it–in spite of his flowerily and honest words (for maybe he doesn’t realize it) his actions speak volumes.
He doesn’t love me.