most people called her
"the little muslim girl"
others chose
terrorist.
i did not know what to think.
i knew what i was told to think.
for a while i called her the former,
but then i decided to call her by her real name,
aaila.
[took me a few days to truly nail it.]
she tried to keep her head down,
and tried not to be a problem in class.
her eyes are the only exposed part of her body,
and that is what i noticed first.
[a deep, dark brown like a cup of coffee.]
then i fell in love with the way she spoke.
[and she didn't do very much of it.
but when she would,
i could listen to it for hours.
the eloquence of her speech,
the confidence she had,
breathtaking.]
she showed me that
i should judge
what is in the head,
rather than what's on it.
but i guess it wasn't meant to be.
we were two people,
living for two different gods.
warring beliefs,
we seemed to have.
the feud written centuries before our births,
but still mark our blood.
i go to a synagogue,
but she prays
five times a day
in the direction of some place
thousands of miles away.
our stars are not allowed to align,
which of our gods said that?
many love messed up during the translations,
or maybe love read the wrong text.
but i cannot see why
i cannot not love
aaila, the little muslim girl?
♥
