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To Lovers That Never Quite Stayed

When people ask you about me, take a deep breath before giving them an answer. Incorporate a sigh in there, and make me look like a disappointment - that’s okay. Tell them about all the places that you’re afraid to go back to, because doing so would feel like time traveling to a space where only we existed.


And we don’t exist anymore.


When people ask you about me, you don’t have to answer. Instead, tell them about all the songs you stopped playing and all the foods I loved. Tell them I stopped eating them. Paint your dream woman and tell them I am nothing like her.


Tell them I’m not even close.


When people ask me about you, I tell them you were New England winter & I was Middle Eastern summer. I tell them it was necessary because leaving was my first step into coming back to myself.


I found myself on a blue yoga mat that read “Believe” in a little studio thousands of miles away from where we started. Nur was in the pages of holy scriptures & late study nights & solo dance parties & empty train stations. She was in the smiles of strangers & business blueprints & bittersweet things like constricted lungs at the scent of your signature cologne in department stores.


I found myself when I realized that despite making a home out of you, the primary one was me.

And that nullified the rest.



Sartoga St., East Boston

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