Dear H,
I like you. I really really like you.
Although little, I enjoyed the time we had. The carpool to the lake, lying on the same blanket under the sun, the asparagus bouquet that we enjoyed chopping up into salads in the kitchen.
Perhaps there were times that I wish you were mine, but the thought of that quickly spirals into fear.
Only if I was younger, I would have make it work.
Only if my heart has the default capacity, I would have the tools to fix you.
Only if.
Yet I have to love myself more now. There isn't really other option.
So here I am, just mesmerising the only if's. The sunshine, the saltiness of your lips and your ice-cold hands. At least we had some good times.
Like the Persian poem goes:
Even after letting go
of the last bird
I hesitate
There is something
in this empty cage
that never gets released
”
Excerpt From
Lean Against This Late Hour
Garous Abdolmalekian
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