This is not a months-long research, nor am I desperately searching for you— mentally and physically wounded — to find out what, how, and why you can always be mentioned in all the prayers that follow the universe’s blessings. The click of my turbulent keyboard is louder than the rumble of longing. I endure a fanatical love while the shadowy scroll of your almost melancholic smile plays across the nerves of my brain. The final closure is from my attempt to take on the role of mother to teach you how to spell. I think you can find love anywhere, but the warm home I want is only in you.
The Greeks had eight words for different types of love and we question whether love should be thrown around so loudly. For me it’s as simple as the digital images and fragments we send each other, “it’s you”, “we”, or the occasional “do you want me to make you coffee?” followed by “oh, you don’t drink coffee, go for teabags instead, or do you prefer milk?”, the endless grocery lists and random account numbers your mom asks you to jot down, “I’ll be home soon, do you need anything?”. It’s not a research journal, but I’m not talking out of my ass.
Shoelaces that spell infinity in their loops, something from your youthful version of a beautiful forever without a care in the world for the existence of the word temporary. Growing up means you have to keep getting up after every meltdown. You have to scream at the top of your lungs and hide in the bathroom. You have to keep talking to yourself with your head almost broken, “It’s okay, you did well. Let’s try again tomorrow”.
Among the violent history of humans who have no manners, the stories where heads find shoulders to mourn, the insolent actions of demon-friended tongues who try to forcefully interfere in your affairs. I hope you continue to find the forgiveness to forgive yourself again. I hope you continue to choose life again and again.
Oh, who says you always have to lose? You can be tired, even through the days when it seems impossible to breathe, you find a way to be a breath of fresh air to y(our) lives that are on the brink of death. A thread of help is brought into existence through your generous hands. Today you are the red rose that blooms above the entrance to the cursed house.
I’m not in a state of research. Several times I’ve exchanged my thoughts with humans who are in love “what’s the reason you like him?”, “what part of him do you like?”. Maybe someone on the other side will answer simply that seeing you laugh makes her happy, or maybe she needs to shiver first, needs to unravel the emotion so she can say I love you. Ans today, let me help convey the feelings of those who are reluctant because the wet blur has blocked their view.
Love will knock on my door on a summer night with neatly trimmed hair. Love will be born in the month of April and have the star sign of Aries. Love will wear her favorite color all the time and carry burdens in her hands willingly. I thought I knew exactly what l o v e looked like. But no, not quite.
Love does come in summer— just not at night. Love is not clean-cut, love’s hair curls and is soft, long, and messy. Love isn’t an Aries, love isn’t born in April; love is born in every month, day, and year just right I wish you a long life. Love exchanges “I love you” with different people because love is you in kindness. And love? love is your mother’s favorite, without a doubt, that woman talks about love like her own child and I listen I watch I see and I believe.
And as if your name wasn’t something very special, but when the letters of your existence died on the tip of love’s tongue, I felt like being embraced by your mother for the first time. Love, why do you radiate so much love?
The pain you’ve incurred along the way will be overgrown by hundreds of flower arrangements. If it’s a happy meeting, the whole world hopes that your happiness never leads to forgetting, about this day, about all the buried memories and tears, and about the old version of you before you could stand tall. All I know is that you are unbelievably beautiful, you truly are half of perfectly. One day you will not only leave behind a trail of flourishing flowers but also a heart that is drenched in the brightest of colors by your lively laughter. I pray for the wounds of your body that may not have healed yet, for when those of us who can still be together with everything on the right and the left as it is; take care, and stay tight.
For all the good prayers, aamin.
