"If change is the only constant, then so is endurance."
Meena had dresses hung in a closet in his old room; days used to pass him by while he was sewing for his grandmother. And when he left his family home, he held only one bag of his own, and it was of her.
A year later, as he went through lives and gave ones away, his room embraced a variety of soft colors, and his designs told tales of an old resistant woman shaped in fabric, silk and feathers.
"We spent last night in our jackets, I wonder how the weather found sun."
Meena said as the tree shadows he sat below moved aside. Daylight brought more significance to Meena's figured features; it showed his wide shaped eyebrows and how they match his pomegranate and his eyes of lash.
"Sea is most beautiful in its rising," he said while telling me about a visit him and his friends made, "between the day and the night, there is a second just for it to change current and rise with its deep and rocky sides. Only then do I like the sea. Other times it's just waves."
In the past month, Darwich had taken a job that required him to move back and forth; to work in the south and love in the north. And after his wishes of a wedding outside, with black suits and white ties, he found himself betrayed by his partner; his palm left without sun, and himself pale as the moon. Even after losing Azhar, Darwich had to lose the love of his own; but with time, it only made him notice the love of others.
He began to notice how Diya's apartment smelled like coffee in the day, how him and Meena got along when they were always a difference away, how the nights they all spent with the sea meant more than his thousand secrets. And in these days, Meena consoled him with a story he hadn't mentioned in his nits; one about feelings he had for someone from the past.
"I threw it over my shoulder."
Meena said when I asked.
"Love is not inevitable or a necessity; just a temporary need for many."
So are you whole?
"I am plenty."