My Dead Diary

I think of you whilst stirring morning tea, When the subway doors close, and I remain;  Your presence is felt, as raindrops race  each other down the window pane.

I think of you while crossing busy streets, When ads interrupt my show; When the grocery playlist flips  to some old tune I half-know.

I think of you as I sort the day’s mail, When matching socks or searching for a key. Memories of your smile, your hand in mine, A quiet, constant pulse inside of me. 

I think of you in the mirror flash, While changing fits and switching the view.  And a thousand tiny moments hit— And every single one returns to you.

You don’t just belong when life feels heavy— You're there when I falter and when I truly shine. You live in the mundane, in the late-night heat, in the quiet sonder threaded between each line.

You move with my chaos, you soften my peace— But you're best in the subtle scene— in the background buzz of an ordinary day, right there, rooted in my routine.

Because he mentioned me to Allah,

Do you know how exhausting it is to stay busy, just to stop my thoughts from drifting back to you?

Do you even know how hard it is not to tell you “I love you”—when every part of me wants to scream it to the world. I love you more than you realize—more than you deserve.

The urge to take care of you is overwhelming, hold you until you fall asleep, kiss you whilst you dream, make sure you always feel safe and loved, be your biggest supporter, ensure you’re comfy, and help you achieve you.

Do you know how badly I wish to be wanted in your life the way I desperately want you in mine?