abigael

“Do you think we were always destined to know each other?' I say.

In my head I'm cresting the Ferris wheel with Jack beside me, our heads tipped back to look at the stars. Perhaps it's the wine, but my stomach flips slowly as he laughs quietly against my ear.

'I don't know if I believe in all that destiny stuff, Lu, but I'll always be glad you're in my life.'

He looks down into my eyes and his mouth is so close I can feel his breath on my lips. I ache.

'Me too,' I whisper. 'Even though being with you is hard on my heart sometimes.”
― Josie Silver, One Day in December

“All words
In the dictionaries, letters, and novels
Died.
I want to discover
A way to love you
Without words.”
― Nizar Qabbani, Arabian Love Poems: Full Arabic and English Texts

“No, don't come out with me,' he says, laying his hand on my shoulder. 'Finish your coffee, then go back and tell Oscar you've found your wedding dress.' He leans down and kisses my cheek, and I catch hold of him, an awkward half-hug because I don't even know if I'll ever see him again. He doesn't push me away. He sighs, his hand gentle on the back of my head, and then he says, 'Love you, Lu,' as if he's exhausted.

I watch him shoulder his way out through the cafe, and when he's gone I take the hat off and clutch it. 'Love you too,' I whisper. I sit there for a while, the hat in my hands, my wedding dress at my feet.”
― Josie Silver, One Day in December

“This is my last letter
There will be no others.
This is the last grey cloud
That will rain on you,
After this, you will never again
Know the rain.
This is the last drop of wine in my cup
There will be no more drunkenness.

This is the last letter of madness,
The last letter of childhood.
After me you will no longer know
The purity of youth
The beauty of madness.
I have loved you
Like a child running from school
Hiding birds and poems
In his pockets.
With you I was a child of
Hallucinations,
Distractions,
Contradictions,
I was a child of poetry and nervous writing.
As for you,
You were a woman of Eastern ways
Waiting for her fate to appear
In the lines of the coffee cups.

How miserable you are, my lady,
After today
You won't be in the blue notebooks,
In the pages of the letters,
In the cry of the candles,
In the mailman's bag.
You won't be
Inside the children's sweets
In the colored kites.
You won't be in the pain of the letters
In the pain of the poems.
You have exiled yourself
From the gardens of my childhood
You are no longer poetry.”
― Nizar Qabbani, Arabian Love Poems: Full Arabic and English Texts