Time

It’s that time of year again.

The time when you – and only you – set the standards (much to my disapproval).

The time when everyone has to be compared to you.

And if I’m completely honest with myself; no one really does compare.

The time when the what-ifs and could-have-beens start setting in and starting wars between my mind and my heart. When my wise mind aches to forget and my pathetic heart aches to remember.

The time when the good memories start to dim out the bad ones. When the longing starts to cover up the anger. When the hopeless desire starts to dig a fast grave for the painful resistance.

It’s that time again.

The time when nostalgia finds a home inside my brain. (It settles and gently furnishes my insides with pictures of our favorite days.)

The time when everything has a deeper meaning – a bigger story. When every single detail of every little thing holds a certain memory; a key to a different world – a past-time kept secret between only you and I.

The time when dressing rooms are no longer just dressing rooms. When red lipstick is a lot more than just make-up. When mango juice is an inside joke. When sushi is more than just a Japanese dish. When showers are no longer just a way to get clean. When writing stories is more than just a passion. When my curly hair is more than just something I was born with and I disliked. When flowery perfumes are no longer just a way to smell nice. When cupcakes are more than just dessert. When notebooks are more than just empty pages stuck together; waiting to be inked. And when eyes are more than just eyes, but portals into a hidden world of masked and eternal happiness.

It’s that time.

When I know you detest the thought of me, and I know I should be hating you, too.

But it’s that time when I remember exactly how your fingers felt intertwined in mine.

And how your lips shied away from saying what your eyes so clearly stated.

And how your affections were always visible regardless of how hard you tried to hide them.

And how you looked at me when there were people around.

And how your breath felt against the back of my neck.

It’s that time again. When I start to wonder if I’m ever going to have that all again. If I’m ever going to possibly feel that way about another living being.

It’s that time – once again – when I start to think about what would have been.

© Copyright 7ala Abdullah

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8 thoughts on “Time

  1. That is so good. Seriously! :’D
    You need to write a Novel or a SCRIPT :O
    I need to stop babbling v.v

  2. Liked it
    And I love this part ” The time when dressing rooms are no longer just dressing rooms. When red lipstick is a lot more than just make-up. When mango juice is an inside joke. When sushi is more than just a Japanese dish. When showers are no longer just a way to get clean. When writing stories is more than just a passion. When my curly hair is more than just something I was born with and I disliked. When flowery perfumes are no longer just a way to smell nice. When cupcakes are more than just dessert. When notebooks are more than just empty pages stuck together; waiting to be inked. And when eyes are more than just eyes, but portals into a hidden world of masked and eternal happiness.”

    Waiting for more :D

    • Thank you very much!
      To answer your question: No, I don’t. I like to post it how it first comes to my mind. If I get more ideas or find errors after posting, I edit them in or out, though. Otherwise, I keep it simple.

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