Quixotic is the word(Masha Allah) and I don’t mean to exaggerate…

I’m the kind who
pays attention to
the details…
if I have a conversation
I have a hundred questions…
why did you say this…
when you said it
did you mean it…
or you said because
you were angry…
what’s going through
your mind…

questions become walls
and my entire life
I’ve been tormented
by these walls
which gave more questions
less answers…
you you and you
everyone thinks it’s frivolous…
I think it’s essential…
how will you deal
if you don’t know
why what and when
and how…
how to resolve…
I felt cornered
cut out and unwelcome
each time you left without answers…
when a conversation ended
without conclusion…
I felt cold and stupid…
and I have a side which doesn’t
want to be a pain either
by asking questions…

but in this entire world…
in this entire world
I have this person
who answers every question…
asks questions…
is concerned…
won’t let me be…
won’t let me wither…
is clear like stream water…
will answer till
I’m convinced
even if it takes the whole night…
will not shut the door on me…
will never leave things unresolved…
and no matter how stupid
or unnecessary my questions are
he answers all…
all till all’s understood…
till there’s no misunderstanding…
till there’s not an ounce of doubt…
till I’m at peace he won’t sleep…
and in the morning
when he wakes up
even after we’ve spent the whole night
trying to get things clear
his first words are
“Tabassum, Mamma, all’s well right, then hug”…

my work place is a couch
from which I can monitor
both the boys…
their beds I see from where I sit…
Taher(hubby) when he wakes up
flashes his phone’s light at me…
I’ve come to get so used to it
I wonder what I’ll do if a day
comes when he won’t feel the need to
or is not on that bed (God forbid)…
I hate to love so much…
depend so much…
hurt so much…
that’s why I like to
remain detached
and focus on other things
and not on our love…
our love is sacred…
I’m scared that my over involvement will jinx it…
that’s why I like to keep
the storm that is our love at a bay…
because it is oh so unreal and dreamy…
it cannot be true
and that scares me…
I don’t want anything going bad
to the only right thing in my life…
all my relations have been messed
except this one…
this one thing
that is right in my life…
and surely that only thing
that I got and I don’t deserve
am unworthy of…
that one thing I can fall back on…
that one thing that has no doors
that will close on me…
block me…
leave me in the cold or dark…
that one thing that makes my life
even worth living…
I cannot lose this heart
that is the purest form of love…
will love me even if I’m a cripple…
will overlook my flaws…
with whom I don’t have to worry
if I’m being a pain or asking the
wrong questions…
with whom I don’t have to worry
about showing the right side of me
because he embraces even my ugly…
the lost side…the confused side…
the emotional fool side…
emotionally dependent side…
drowned in nostalgia side…
living in the past side…
divided among so many things side…
the aloof side…
the selfish side…
the obsessive compulsive side…
the perfectionist(in vain) side…
the condescending attitude side…
the need to be left alone side…
the misanthrope side…
the hot head side…
the impatient side…
the restless side…
the superiority complex side…
the feels incompetent side…

each and every flaw in me
just goes unnoticed…
this man was made for me…
to fill the void for all that
I don’t have in my life…
to fill the hole that is my heart…
grateful is not word enough
and my actions don’t convey
gratitude either…
but my heart which longs
for a sea of people
has home in his heart…
we have home in each other…
if there is a word soulmate
it is him…
because a million times
we’ve talked without talking…
resolved issues without arguing…
answered without questioning…
accepted without judging…

though my heart longs for the world
it’s here with him where it
truly feels it belongs…
or is wanted and welcomed…
questions and inconveniences
and all

©Seema Tabassum 2017
©lifeshues.org 2017
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All rights reserved.

*The handsome man in the picture is my hubby.

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