By Noor Al Huda Younes
I think of you everyday.
My body’s receptors ache for the overwhelming sensation
of your stimulating sounds and smells.
My face has never felt the reviving glow of the sun
except in your presence,
my hair has never been so lovingly brushed by the wind
except with you.
Colours are not as breathtakingly vibrant,
the sky is not a brilliant shade of cloudless blue,
fruit is not a luscious explosion of sweet and sour,
except with you.
My body has memorised the rhythms of the repetitive movement
of your palm trees,
the harmonious beeps
of cars in post-Maghreb traffic,
the indescribable smell
of the Damascus air;
a combination of humidity, of jasmine, of energy, of home.
The complexity of the diaspora struggle.
How difficult it is to be with you,
how difficult it is to be apart from you.
The push-and-pull mimics that of two lovers intertwined in an emotionally burdensome union.
Yet,
I would always choose to belong to you.
Through the pain, the loss, the heartbreak, the distance.
I will only
belong to you.
Featured Image: Honor Adams