Sumayyah Scribbles

They are few and far between, those moments of clarity. When they do arrive, I can count my breaths; I can focus on a leaf shivering in the breeze; I can feel the gift that lives in every moment. Then, when the clarity passes, my moments again become a blur. The world is loud; it scrambles for my attention, pouring all it's got into my eyes, ears, and mind. And so I rush through the world in distraction, mind crowded with the everything that is nothing. As for that rare moment when I stare at the sky or watch the rain or stroke a leaf, it is worth all the world.

“Yes, you've told me before.” The words I speak into the phone are calm, but my heart sinks--as with every other proof of your unravelling. I wish I could grasp at those strands of memory that keep escaping, replaced by things that never were. And as the strands slip away, fears of all kinds come to stay. They crowd your mind; danger lurks around every corner. Maybe we are not that different. The fears have made a home in me too. One of them bothers me the most. I'm afraid that when I finally see you, I will not know you.