ahmedzubayerradin

[ahmedzubayerradin]

A strange thing

How strange to dream of you when wide awake

How strange to love you in my sleep, yet wake up alone

How strange to tell the stars of you, who left me in the dark

How strange that hell is other people, yet heaven is just a person

How strange to look at you now, not know who you are

How strange to be a few lines in your book, while for you whole chapters I draw

[ahmedzubayerradin]

“I did not want to kill her.”

��  To those who have not held a dead body before, let me tell you that the weight you feel carrying it is not just of the body. Oh, and you will know it. You will notice immediately that there seems to be something more than just flesh holding it down. That weight is of the soul, the soul that left that body. It is the absence of life that feels so heavy. And I knew it as soon as I lifted her.

   I did not want to kill her. But my father said it was okay. He told me; no, he assured me it was okay. I felt the slightest of twitches in my eyes as I looked through the scope. I had her in my ironsight. The gun was firmly in between my left hand and my right shoulder. And all I had to do is flex my finger over that trigger; such simple action, such collateral execution.

   Oh, how I hoped, I prayed to dear God for her to move. But she did not. She did not make the slightest of flinches. It was as if the soul had already left her body, moments before my bullet even grazed her.

   I held my breath, as you do before pulling the trigger as not to miss. I held my breath as she breathed her last. She did not see it coming, I did not look away.

   Father rushed over. He provided me with another assurance. She had died instantly. It is not that he made me pick her up; rather it was me that insisted on it. I wanted to feel the weight of my actions. And I did as I carried her all the way back to our camp.

   I noticed the smile, the little smile on father’s face. He was proud to welcome his daughter in the family’s hunting rituals. At the small small price of a deer’s soul, I had earned my father’s pride.

   I sat beside the campfire and watched in high definition as father skinned her, cleansed her meat of her blood and prepared the meat. The smell of smoked deer flesh made me think about how she will never again know the smell of fresh grass in the early mornings.

   Father served me a plate of my first kill. Instinctively, my mouth watered at the sight of the cooked meat. I cut a sufficiently large piece from it and thought perhaps the deer was not all that died that day, perhaps something inside me had died too. I took my first bite and thought.

“Dear God! This tastes good!”

[ahmedzubayerradin]

“You are not supposed to hold back your tears but shed them”

    I hope I forget you completely. I hope to forget your name, your face, your scent, how your hair moved. I hope to forget the way you smile, the way you lips moved when you did.  I do not want any of it.

    If I do not, it will hurt. I will wonder how you are, where you are. There will be times I remember one of these things; I will remember how things were. I will feel the pain of not having you in my life in any way, of not being in your life in any way.

    I am sorry I am not beside you today. Maybe you are angry with me. Maybe you are sad. But I hope you are neither and you remember me in good memory. I hope instead of bringing yourself down because of what happened you grow from this; you learn from this. I hope you find the strength to do all that is necessary. I know you are not one who cries but remember this: you are not supposed to hold back your tears but shed them. Shed away the pain and you might just find your nirvana.

    I once read somewhere that everything in life takes practice. Not just writing, painting, running, singing, but practicing how to make friends; how to make the right ones - getting practiced at how to be a good friend, a good sibling, a good person; practice identifying when people have not earned that; learning to recognize your right to rage and, eventually, how to offer mercy. So much of life is muscle memory, and I want you to realize there are so many more parts of ourselves to flex and stretch and strengthen than those we are taught in anatomy lessons.

    Forget why or how it ended. Remember that it did, and strive to make sure this never happens again. I know I will. You once told me how proud you were of me, to have me be a part of your life. Let yourself grow so that someday, someone tells you how proud they are of you, and how grateful they are to have you. I may be gone. But I taught you a lot. Miss me in good memory and learn from those memories. It may tear my heart apart every day to think I abandoned you; because I did. But I had to. Be better than I am. Love yourself and I will never hate you.

Take care,

my Marshmallow