By: Leah
Edited by Harith Syafiee
Dearest Love,
If I could describe you, I wouldn’t compare you to a summer’s day. I’d compare you to the cold rainy night that followed, the one that makes me feel at ease. I’d tell the great writers your name and tell them that you are who they have referred to in their ballads and poems. I’d compare you to fields of dandelions and lavender. To serenity and the remedy to my anxieties.
You know, dear, I think we’re interlinked. Sometimes, I could be talking about you to my friends and suddenly you appear. Or I could be thinking ‘Damn, I haven’t seen him in a while’, and just like that you walk past me.
Have you ever considered changing your name to Beetlejuice?
Sure, I could kill for you, or die for you even, but I would rather live for you. You make me want to live. How do you have that much power?
If I could tell you how I felt, I’d put it in poetry. I’d tell you while we were standing in the rain. Hell, I’d put every other monologue that has ever existed to shame. Perhaps I’ll give you a letter. Let you see in writing just how moved I am by you. You’d know. You’d immediately know.
I like you. That much I know. I like you in a way I haven’t liked someone in a very long time. Yeah, I like your hair, your smile and your appearance. But I also adore your mind and the random facts I’ve learned since getting to know you. I adore the way you laugh and your thoughtfulness. The way that you check up on me when you notice I’ve been off, or the way that you hope I have a good weekend when I’m at home. I admire how you’ve somehow made me a better person through the simplicity of you being you. What is happening to me?
Oh, my dearest love. I could not live enough lifetimes to deserve you. I’d have to repent to God until the end of this Dunya, and I still would not deserve you when I got to heaven. But I will adore you from where I stand because although I yearn for more, I understand my place. And I would rather have some of you than none of you at all.
I like you, dear. And one day I may tell you. But for now, I’ll keep telling God about you.
Helplessly yours,
Leah
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