I had a long day today. My father is praying in the next room, and his voice makes me so safe. I can’t discern the words, just the hums of his prayers and recitation. Sometimes, my Mom does that too. When I was young, I remember I woke up to her voice one morning, only to find her still asleep! I freaked out, not because no one was reciting anything, but because I could actually still hear her voice..
It is said that the call for prayers is still heard in a shelled neighborhood in Syria, ibhog. Not a single living soul is there. The freedom fighters narrated that happening. So, maybe it’s more about the utterance and its impression on our souls than it is about who utters it.
Same goes with conversations. How can you miss the conversations but not really the people? What does that really mean? Is that how our selves tell us that we are lonely? But then again, why don’t I miss the people themselves? It’s so strange.
In a parallel universe, I would have conversations with you. Maybe while I eat cereal with warm milk on a cold sunrise..