حكمة اليوم

لا تتخيل كل الناس ملائكة فتنهار أحلامك، ولا تجعل ثقتك بهم عمياء لأنك سوف تبكي ذات يوم على سذاجتك

An affair.

He called today. Coincidently I had been just thinking of him. We hadn’t spoken in months, almost a year now- possibly more. It is for the best. I shouldn’t think of him in that way. He has a wife and a kid, a life, a career. He doesn’t need me. If anything, I should be able to understand the betrayal of men. I couldn’t tell my butterflies to stop flapping, nor could I stop myself from pressing that green button. That buzzing call. Ring. Ring. That cry of lust. That flashing of light.

It just happened. My three minutes of happiness, in substitute for her erosion of trust. It’s pathetic really. It shouldn’t have happened, but it did.

It is official. I am aging.

It was 2007, a brisk Autumn morning in September when I discovered my first grey hair. 2009, when I discovered my first set of forming wrinkles. 2010, I seem to be passing through an unusually early mid-life crisis.

I still remember that hysterical fit I threw when I found that first shinning white hair. It was easy to find considering my hair is a very dark shade of ebony. I remember reading once that it is impossible for anyone to have black hair, just dark shades of brown. I always thought of myself as an exception- regardless of what science said.

That shining silver amazed me, and I wanted to share this with everybody and anybody. It was a new part to me that I had never seen before, and I couldn’t do anything about it but simply laugh. Can you imagine waking up one day, and finding yourself with a new arm? That is what it was. A foreign addition to my being.

Then came the second. And yet again, those overwhelmingly extroverted feelings of astonishment would pride themselves amongst the public. Then the third, fourth, and … yes… I’ve lost count. They are EVERYWHERE. I have my parents to blame for this. It’s all genetic. And to think that I have never really enjoyed my hair. It has always been a ruffled up mess rolled in a bundle and tucked under that helmet, for fear of sin. And now the years have gone by me with a blink of an eye, and taken the youth of my hair with it. Never to be looked it, never to be enjoyed, never to be appreciated. Good bye youth. Good bye hair.

I forgot.

I lost myself, and with that came the loss of that vital vein of love. Out of signal. Out of touch. The very world which repulses me has engulfed me into its corpse. I am the maggot of the dead. I am the dead of the living. I am the living of the dead. Buried into an abysmal pit of darkness. The epitome of ignorance. “Busy” I said. “Consumed”. “Worried”. “Depressed”…. Nonsense. Futile pities. Vain frills. Disguised necessities. Worry not for what is today, but for what is tomorrow.

To think I am someone is to mean I am nobody. For everyone is somebody. Conceited mediocrities. Hallucination en masse. Propagandist reality. Sequential rotations of self inflicted dizziness. Rings of sameness yet in different shades of history. And? And? Nothing! Nothing.

Except for you. You transcend that which my senses convey as reality. Omnipotence lies with you. You alone, and no one but you. How could I have missed this? How could I have allowed myself to be swallowed?

Forgive me.

Forgive me.