15th August 2021
Of which Shams-i Tabrizi and Rumi’s exchanges speak of not sitting and waiting but foreseeing. Knowing that the moon needs time to become full.
Of which Gibran questions the greatness of his endurance in separation; in her parting words to him “earthly bodies must often separate for earthly purpose, And must live apart impelled by worldly intent…”
Of which Austen writes to give it a more fascinating name, hope – if that’s what it takes to know your happiness.
Of which Neruda talks of sitting in with – when on the rim of the well of darkness, fishing for the fallen light.
Of which I’ve only come to know in this past year.
Of which I’ve seen in the eyes of my local Asian grocer whose is the only shop on that street that still opens at 8am every day. In a row of closed up shops, he sits on the bench outside staring into his shop yet still smiles behind his mask as I walk past.
Of which I’ve heard in my mother’s voice every week as she says just before she hangs up, “see you soon.”
Of which I’ve come to feel in the 2.30am slide of their balcony door in the apartment next door as I lie awake in my bed. A neighbour I’ve never seen but feel their movements mirror mine as we spend our days within closed walls.
Of which I’ve come to understand in this past one year of writing letters to you and not hearing back.
And of Shukr? What of Shukr in this past one year?
Of which I am so, so thankful for. For the roof over my head, the warmth of my blanket, the cold of my fridge, the refuge of my pen, the connectivity of my phone and the invisible hand that just doesn’t let go.
And I’m in gratitude for the first time I looked into your beautiful eyes, Anand.
Of which, they reminded me, that every single day I deserve nothing but my fiercest, fiercest love.
Love (& Faith),