Antee jamela bizef. Atafham? anaa kullii lak. atfi an-nuur. uriiduk. bre’it boosah. uriidu an amuss al- halmatt. arjuuk laa tadhhab. laa uriidu an atrukak. uriidu an akuuna zawjataka. sa-uhibbuk daa’iman.
“You’re beautiful. Do you understand… I’m yours. Turn off the light. I want you. I want to kiss you. I want too suck… Please don’t go. I don’t want to leave you. I want to be your(s)… I’m loving you (always).”
i’ve been preparing for the worst since the beginning, thus, no tears which is more then i can say for my professor or the women around me in class. since i can’t cry and don’t want to, the only things I’ve been able to do in this corner of the world is try to live as best that i can. listening to music like it can save me my life, trying to be good but can’t stop myself from wanting to crawl into bed and make love. Stoned and honest about adoring that woman running in and out of the livingroom where i’m watching the world. High and downing the merlot, i remember the evening running into morning, where I wait long after all my companions left, hopeful despite the new world order, just thinking maadha ba’da dhaalik? What’s next?