I miss you.
I miss you every time I turn on the stove to cook for my favorite dinner. I miss you when I’ve stumbled on Sergey Lazarev’s songs in Google. I miss you when I see people speaking Russian along the subway. I miss you when I started pouring out the last dregs of a bottle of wine on a shot glass you bought for me when we were in the Land of Noah.
I miss you.
I miss you when I’m passing by at a Turkish Restaurant where we always eat spicy shawarma and my favorite fattoush. I miss the first time you handed me a cup of Turkish coffee that you yourself prepared and I remembered how I swallowed it down in one gulp and that lopsided smile you gave me was melting my heart. You were so lovely with that crooked smile, my darling.
I miss you.
I miss how you made me laugh and for a minute, I forgot how to cry over Nizar Qabbani’s life story. I miss you while slicing up a chocolate cake for a dessert. I miss your hand on my hair, your lips on my hand, your dirty pants off on the floor, and those bottles of Corona in your refrigerator during the weekend.
I still wish of us together in the Paloma Bar and the Bullfrog cocktail has been there with us all the way that helps the night blur and get like a legless frog.
Once in a while, I still listen to the Russian songs you did burn for me. I still see you every time I see Antonio Banderas’ hair in the Assassin movie.
But even how the hell I miss you, I don’t think of going home to you again. You’re not my favorite home anymore. I’m not going to stand in your way again. I don’t want to see my mobile popping up your name on its screen. I don’t want to read those overused and abused “I love you” on my mobile’s screen because I realized that it was never used correctly. Please don’t let me see you again. I no longer feel a home in you and I don’t feel the word forever in it anymore.
I’m sick and tired of seeing her lipstick mark off along the rim of your coffee mug at home. I hate seeing her Samsung charger that was forgotten on top of your table in the kitchen. I hate seeing the traces she’s leaving on your bed, her things you hid under your things in the drawer and that hickey she’s always giving on your neck. I’m so tired seeing you talk to her while I’m sitting next to you. I hate her photos taken at every corner of your house. I hate seeing that smile on your face while chatting with her. I hate that your eyes tell the tales of your love to her. I hate seeing her photos sitting next to you while driving your car, her hand held by yours. I’m sick and tired of crying on my couch every night for breaking my heart so bad.
Remember when I had the key to your flat? I used to slip through the crack of the door like a ghost and suddenly sitting down to the edge of your bed. I stopped doing that and I hope you know. I don’t want your body will touch mine again because I know that your heart and your mind are with her. I have learned waking up in the cold morning of knowing you’re not really there next to me.
They said there is always a beautiful world out there and it’s a wonderful feeling to see it with the one you love. Yes, there is a beautiful world out there but none of it will be the same when I see it with the one who truly loves me and it won’t be you.
I’m not anymore the woman who is easy to love. I have stopped loving you either. We can never be friends again, so, don’t come back to me anymore. My soul is not already yours. The beautiful world we’ve been dreaming of to be a better place to live is no longer for us.
Well, I’m glad you dumped me, by the way. I’m glad our time together didn’t last forever. I’m glad that you are happy and enjoying each and every moment of your life without me in it.
Yes, I stopped fighting for you because it was too exhausting. I have learned from the books I read that we all deserve to be happy with the people who love us. People who make us happy even with little thing. And the people who treat us human beings.
I stopped spending my life wandering and hanging around you, carrying excruciating pains unending suffering and unbearable torment.
I stopped checking my phone each time I remember your name. My heart doesn’t race and skip a crazy beat whenever I hear your voice. I stopped craving for your sleepy-hooded eyes beaming with love. And I stopped wishing your soft fingers filling the empty spaces of mine.
To be shamelessly and brutally honest with you, my heart is no longer whispering that beautiful name, the name that usually refers to someone who is the epitome of being ravi. That beautiful Arabic name which means “courage.”
I made it, darling! I’m now over you. I’m fine. I don’t feel wrecked anymore. I am no longer terrified to love someone else. I’ve stopped wishing for you, loving me when I forget to love myself. I’ve stopped crying out for you at 3 a.m on Thursdays. I’ve stopped wishing for impossible things for both of us. I no longer miss you so desperately at night and when I wake up in the morning. You’re no longer the best part of my every day and you’re no longer my favorite character in every story I write.
I can think of you with a smile on my face, shake my head and say, “Thank God, there are guys like him, otherwise this world is such a boring place to live in.” I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself now and I don’t need someone to mother hen me, not even you. Thank you because you’ve taught me how to get over you. And, thank you because I’m now capable of giving my heart to someone else who deserves to spend priceless moments with me.
I really am so sorry but I don’t look forward to seeing you again one day.