Red Love

Braille

You know, when you memorise someone's attributes. Their smell, their aura. Succeeding in memorising every inch of their face with your very fingertips, as if they were written in braille and you were blind. Recognising by touch, not sight. Everyone recognises by seeing, it's so mainstream. Why should those who love be like everyone else when everyone else is invisible once they are blessed with each other's presence; and you can't possibly be that which you can't see, right?

Then there's the conjuring up of their attributes, the ones you've so lovingly took extra time to experience, to bathe in, cleansing every desire with each dip. It's the ability to close your eyes and imagine their scent in the air around you, their skin beneath your hands. Focusing all your energy into deeply imagining these aspects of your beloved, so much so that they become real to your senses. You can physically smell the sweet smell of his neck and feel the smoothness of the skin that clothes his muscles and his loyal veins, the perfected bumps that adorn his torso, his defined cheek bones and his rough hands.

That's how it was with us. That's how I felt about him. My lover.

We were different to other couples. We never even knew the exact date for when our relationship began.
You see, reader, things happened gradually then all at once, leaving us no time to accurately prescribe a date to our getting together. Instead, we chose a significant day and agreed we would count from then onwards.

In this piece of writing my inner feeling will be expressed. In my ramblings or my eloquent works you will find my secrets. My encounter with love, all forbidden to the minds of those around me. Why, you might ask? They told me it's wrong to love, it's wrong to crave, it's wrong to want to be touched and caressed in a passionate way. Passion burns in the heart and the fire of Hell burns the heart therein.

Fear of judgement and lack of empathy leads my forlorn self to tell, using the language of those who shun beautiful adoration, my unique version of Romeo and Juliet, Laila Majnu and Ram Leela. The difference is we didn't die. The difference is he's Black and I'm Asian. The difference is I'm a Muslim and he's not.