Passing Distance

Distance doesn't take more than time, and time soon goes on.

The difficult part of getting used to something you dislike is knowing it's your only choice and you can't do anything about it, but even that becomes routine. For me, it took me sometime to get over all the what ifs and if onlys. But now I know in three months and some days i'm going to stop thinking of how far. I'm going to think of only one thing. 

So I try, I build myself up. Prepare. I believe you never know you're strong enough until you're patient enough, and i never knew my strength until lately. I know now that I can.

Everyone needs to be apart for sometime to realize the need for one another other. Distance is not only a nightmare, it can also be a daydream. 

First Goodbye

He held on to you. One night, when all he had was a hope and a sacrifice. When everything seemed to not fit into shape, when he was lost, he held on to you. You knew what to say. He said it straight. Love was all he could follow. All he can relate to.

When in these nights the lights go off, does he see anything but you? He held on to you like a wave. You drift him and turn him down. You keep his balance. You break and fix and prepare.

You were far, but you were here. He saw you in words. He planned stories for another day. You were far - everyday made it worse - but you were here, he kept telling himself; you gave him all he never had, you completed him, does it matter how far? Or until when? You were here.
He thought of the time to come. He wrote you thoughts and worries. You said change won't take this away.

It was hard - it's still hard - not being with you. His hands have dried from the wind. Your arms they wrap him once in a while but all he feels is loss. You're leaving. Soon enough to want to let him go. Does it hurt? He had seen pain and agony. He had witnessed defeat and triumph. Will it hurt to let you go?

'I'll be fine' he thought. He packed his suitcase, headed back and forth, decided to wait, stood up again then moved on.

Losing Home

They've wandered and prepared. They've looked ahead and waited. This city has grown empty and silent. They called it by its name. They knew it by its air. A home, it was crowded and filled once, it was home.
Months passed. Years followed. Seasons went and brought tears and loss. They kept hoping. It became a habit.

People said it'll pass. But they never really knew. They lied. The darkness that painted this street have turned into fog. The miles we used to travel are now separated and taken. Smoke and ashes and fire; it's not the same. Nothing is like it used to be.

I hear our house has gone to memory. It cuddled the air and lost pieces. We had a tree. We had a garden, a parking lot and a balcony. My grandpa _ a soldier and a father for ten children _ planted our garden. It took him years to watch our olive tree grow. He gave my uncles turns. Everyday one of them would water it, cut the dry leaves and collect olives.

Life was that simple some time ago. Before this became all we know.

Grandmother still remembers everything about the day they had to leave. She says you never know you're losing all you have until you leave home. She remembers the people, the streets they walked. They were told they'll be leaving for sometime. They left it all. Holding on to a key.

It was temporary. Still is?

I'm dried up with memories. Planting flowers according to season. I water them, cut the dry leaves and collect them. I keep them with me. I keep them to remind me that someday this will pass. Someday, I'll be back.