Meena (Part III)

"Truth is, I'm not guiding my story to fight its way to ears that only hear a side of it, and I don't need to find mutual feelings between me and those who don't have any. I am only setting thoughts in the air, and I have many."

"There is a room in the middle of the city that I filled and made belong to me." He said with proud eyes.

That night when he found his lost entity, he had to bury it in covers and white sheets. His friend, Diya, drove him to his place.
"I've known Diya since the swings in my school's playground; only him could've eased my weight when I needed to stand my ground. He lives on a roof Downtown, with Badr, Darwish, Khader and Azhar."

Meena knew how that roof's wrinkles had ran it into the old, but it only meant that its warmth would take away all of his cold. It didn't feel like home, but it looked like it. It didn't have a closet, but it had a window with laces, where he organized his colored fabrics and stray pieces.

"Darwish is a refugee from Palestine. His home is as far as mine, but checkpoints make it further away. Badr is a good student with a medicine degree. His long black hair never turned his white spirit grey. Khader was a kid in my school but grew up to be a screw up and music was what he grew up to say; he writes symphonies that hides in notebooks and sings popular songs at busy nights where some men like to wear jewelry and leather tights. There is a casino by the sea that is known for its audience. It's our escape and our closet."
Azhar knew that. He guarded it every night to drive away the doubts. Policemen passed by every once in a while, sometimes to take someone home, other times to raid, threaten and criticize.

"Azhar is Darwich's twin brother. He was a soldier. As he got older, his brother left home and his father denied him until he joined his side of the fight. He was given order to arm his body, until he chose to free it."
Interrupted by a phone call that involved a "what's your name?" and "I'll call you later," Meena told me that he had to go. My last question was about his family, he said he hadn't seen them ever since he moved. He said life now is more of a song from his classics than a one from their blues.

"The streets know me well as a seller of love in spells. I have memories that didn't end well and those that ring my heart a bell whenever it's caught, but I sing hums to my skin to guide it around an object with a pulse. I don't feel love in red, roses, or in a lifetime of disguise. This is love to me, when your love is a lie."


  1. I'm so happy you put this out there, but the words exhort so much emotion that I feel like there's more for you to tell. You haven't said enough! Keep writing, do what you do best :)

    1. Hehe, this story is just my attempt of walking in this character's shoes and saying what he would say. His inability to express completely and hide behind words is meant to show his personality as an oppressed individual.
      Thanks a million for taking the time to read my stuff. Your comment meant the world! :)