The one after the last

Ibraheem,

I know I stopped writing to you, but since I’d done that, I became only aware of how words were only brushing off from something profounder; a certain connection of sorts, that would realize itself into my consciousness after I wake up, and then bury itself softly into my subconscious the minute I fall asleep. I’m not sure if I can call it love, for I think I’m bashful enough today, nor do I think I can call it infatuation, for I’m proud enough, but it’s there, ibhog, and in its being there, like a concrete rock on the ground, lie its sheer reality.

I know you’re on a long pause, and I know how relentless your depression has become, all from the mere, deafening silence of you. I would narrate to you the dreams I have of you, but then again that connection, it dwarfs all dreams. It is wordless, and thoughtless. It does not merit presentation, for it is but present. It is me.

Listen. I want you to be well. This is free of attachment. I don’t believe you’d grasp the amount of longing I have for you that aches at my every pore, but tonight, I don’t want you – I just want you to be well. I want you to sigh peacefully, for although we’re a sea apart, that vibrant, unsettled heartbeat of yours, had actually reached the pit of my stomach, and I wake up in tears.

The world is in chaos, and I sense the commotions in your chest. It’s like I see it in my sky. Like I’m inside of you, and the minute you wince in pain, it thunders above me, and I feel so helpless, because then I wish I could fly and hug the sky, that way you’d be comforted from your inside, that way I’d warm you in the heart, but I just, can’t, Ibraheem. I instead keep weeping in absolute stillness, looking at the heavens, wet with the rain that’s your uncried tears, and looking at the world around me, inside you, and wondering: why is no one hugging him up there.

Ah, ibhog. I wish I could push a play button somewhere on you, so you’d be free of you.

Until then, I’m in the shade, somewhere in the corner of your chest, looking anxiously at that sky, hoping it might someday clear.

Please, be well, ibhog. For the sake of those who love you.

Yours for eternity,

N.

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