Burn After Reading

Think.. Think.
Somewhere deep in my heart you are playing a game of chess with me. We are sitting in my mother’s living room with two glasses of wine and some Barbra Straisand music. You always hated Barbra Straisand.
You would always win; and I’m not totally sure if that was due to the fact the I’d let you win, or rather because you have always been looking me in the eyes when we played chess and that I’d be too mesmerized by your beauty to think more than one or two steps ahead.
My mother opens the door to the living room; she looks at us and smile, she dims the lights a little and asks if we need anything before she goes to bed. You smile to her, you call her ‘mother’ and you wish her a good night sleep. She closes the door softly.
I look you in the eyes and ask you if you want to go to bed. You tell me that you’d go to sleep had you know how to control yourself from thinking of me with every breathe. “You keep me sleepless every time you fall asleep in my arms.” You say, “I just wanna spend the night guarding your dreams.”
I come closer to you; my chess king – always the white one – falls as I push it away while I touch my lips with yours.

Stop thinking .. Stop thinking.
I’m sitting, as I write this blog, in the living room of my friend. Two friends are watching the movie Contact. Jodi Foster is struggling with the question “Do you believe in God?”.
I believe in God; all I hope that He, from high above, can see the marks on my soul that you left, when you went away.

Think.. Think.
You and I are on the beach. We are in a villa overlooking the shore somewhere in Lebanon. Our friends, a mixture of straight Arab friends, couple of foreigners and a group of queer people and my dog, are spread around the villa in this early afternoon.
There are news on TV of political struggles between Lebanon and Israel; the ones that will finally lead to yet another attack on the Lebanese south soon after. We, however, just wanted to run away from stressed out Beirut and enjoy the holidays.

I’m sleeping in a hammock; topless, with a pair of sunglasses that you gave me couple of weeks ago for my birthday. (Remember them, my love? They were the only sunglasses that I’ve ever felt like they fit my face perfectly). I have a glass of cold beer in my hand and I’m just enjoying the soft beautiful June sun in Lebanon.
You come from afar; topless and beautiful like a Greek god. You are wearing sunglasses as well and carrying a glass of beer as well. Your hair (your shaggy black hair) is dancing in the breeze.
You pull the hammock a bit towards you, you jump in. My beer spills a bit on me but I don’t notice it. You sleep next to me in the big hammock. However, your legs are on my left shoulder side and my legs are on your left shoulder side. I sit up and smile to you. We are now face to face; nothing is heard but the occasional barking of my dog and the smoothing sound of the sea.
I tell you that this hammock is enough for only one person. You reach your hand; you cross my fingers with yours and you tell me that we are indeed one person.

Stop thinking.. Stop thinking.
Still in my friend’s living room; the movie is still playing. I’m still waiting for that moment when Jodi Foster gets to meet her dead father in the movie and have a weird multidimensional conversation that might be understood in many ways.
The man on TV is having a orderly chat with Foster and telling her that “we are not sending anyone up there without minimal protection. End of Story.”
I never been able to protect myself from your memories; when you went away; you didn’t leave me with any protection. Since you left and I have been wearing my heart on my sleeve and I have been giving it away on every corner hoping to find another you.
I hoped for minimal protection with you; but when you love someone so uncontrollably; your heart becomes so open; so accepting; so easily broken.

Think.. Think.
When I got the phone call – that phone call – I didn’t believe it. Your brother’s tired voice telling me words that I can’t even type here without tearing a bit. So, I won’t see you anymore, I won’t feel your soft touch on my ear in the morning as you kiss me a ‘good morning’? I won’t catch your hungry lips with mine, when we’re both naked in bed; with our bodies joining in an act of love making? I won’t laugh at your silly jokes? Or get drunk with you in the streets of Beirut? I won’t hear you telling me, one more time, how much you love me?
When we were naked in bed; I always felt that loneliness has disappeared from the world. That I will never ever feel alone again. Now, after every act of sexual engagement with anyone; I always feel empty. I always feel alone.
When we were holding hands; I always felt like I don’t need to speak to communicate with you. Like if my thoughts are traveling through my nerve system; through my fingers; towards your brain cells. When I hold hands now with anyone; it feels fake, unrealistic; it feels like I’m a copycat killer; unoriginal; easily forgotten.
Your brother asks me, repeatedly on the phone, to stay strong. To believe that you’re in a better place now. That in heavens; you’d always look down and take care of me.
Sarah, my best friend, told me back then that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. That was eight years ago; today while discussing the lyrics of some silly song, Bassem, my friend, told me that; if what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, then why do I feel so weak?
I had to think of you when I heard that.

Stop thinking.. Stop thinking
Yesterday, in Truth or Dare, a friend asked me what do I think of death? I told him that “it’s the only thing you can’t blame anyone for doing it.”

I miss you, my unconditional love, so very much, everyday.


1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. bASSEM
    Feb 16, 2012 @ 16:56:02

    you cut it out


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