when the sun was high, & our lungs were higher with the lack of breath.

there was an entire afternoon you’d spent calculating the width of a splintered horizon, hanging from the hair-tips of your old lover’s wraith; and it was the most of you i’d seen in the longest part of ever- where the rattling in your bones resonated with the fracturing in your heart, while your fingers furiously flew over a blackened paper decaying with the distance from an unstructured reality.

and on that day you haunted me most-

with your lips scarred with her name, and your chest cavity crumbling with her memories buried inside of them like an oldest house folding into itself- you held me to the edge of your body, like an unbridled sea holds the sky- while the closest i ever got to you was when my own breath recoiled back to me.

i remember, how you were so full of equations that’d never dare to exist in the world outside of us, and how you tied every single poem of mine into a probability that existed in a line full of mathematical assumptions, and i remember, how you chanted those equalities like a desperate prayer from someone between belief and heresy, as if some uncalculated error might draw her back to when you and her- you fucked with a kehkashan slowly losing its uncentered gravity at the space between your chests.

and i remember, how your legs met the tiled land under our feet as you watched all your calculations fall apart like two lovers after they’d undone the last dredgs of their being.

and because i loved you because you loved her and because she loved this longing more than you, we stood under that afternoon sky with our palms hanging open- almost bleeding at the lifelines- just struggling to forget
how to breathe.

••ra’ahe khayat

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19 thoughts on “when the sun was high, & our lungs were higher with the lack of breath.

  1. Could not stop myself from commenting on your post. Glad I dropped by. Beautifully written. Deep it is!
    I am relatively new to blogging. Love it when I come across blog life that of yours.
    I am just 3 posts old and working on a series as of now. Would be please if you visit my blog.

    Like

  2. I would suggest you try your hand on full-fledged erotica. Such brief utterances don’t allow for depth, nor do they construct any narrative. You end up communicating almost nothing. Why be a ‘naala’ when you can be a river?

    Like

and so you say..

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