For Every Letter

to k (this isn't relevant)

you know what? i hate you. i wish i hadn't grown up seeing you. i wish you weren't this fucking bullet in my throat, the kind that you would die if you removed, that you get so used to the pain of it becomes a comfort. i wish you weren't this addiction that has no rehabilitation center but suicide or death.

do you know: before you, i hadn't even thought to sneak outside of my house. every one was doing it or lying about their whereabouts. i swore i wouldn't, for myself, for my religion. you made me break that vow. you made the breaking taste like sugar because fuck honey, i hadn't liked it, and fuck nicotine, i hadn't thought it sexy until you and that damned tongue, that blasphemous mouth.

now i sit on rugs in the living room drinking jabana and bleeding from the inside. the war came to our little neighborhood, and you licked the memory of the first rocket launched into my mouth. the first destruction, highlighted by my downfall into hell as i clung to your arms.

i hadn't meant to leave you behind with the war and the third world-country. i had meant nothing, fuck. all those fears of yours about my blind ambitions and the travelling necessities hidden in my bag for that abroad-education i was hell-bent on getting, even at the cost of my parents, i had made come true.

but fuck you. fuck you resolutely, completely, with every cigarette you quit for me, every love confession, every time you trailed behind me, worshipping, every look while accidental meetings on the streets, and your complete disregard for the values and principles i hadn't uttered to you during your pursuit. you knew, though. you knew what islam meant, with it in you, too, and you loved me anyways.

you also knew i was the one to block people after i transferred schools and that i abandoned friends over words and lines crossed by an inch. so fuck you again, i guess. how dare you follow me an entire country over and actually fucking cry and make me feel all that guilt.

can't you see i am already consumed by you? and your every word? you know that text i wrote you, the one where i said you were magic and that you are forbidden in islam? i don't think u realise how literal i was being.

so stop fucking texting me. stop your words, and that drop-drop-dripping heart. i want all of the world and you are a teeny-tiny chunk. i want prestige, glory and obsession and i will not get it whilst chained by marriage, you know that.

stop telling me to write. stop your eyes. it was one kiss. it matters less, less, less. you matter less. and fuck you, by the way, i can muster up the courage to publish one story online, you stupid boy. i made a five figure at sixteen, i can do anything as long as Allah agrees.

stop.
i don't forgive, and i don't kiss behind my conscience's back.