ema_elric

حالة يوفورية لا تتناسب مع فداحة الوضع².

لي يومين أحاول اجيب حاجة انشرها هنا but i feel my mind blocked

https://pin.it/1TLZYfJFB

"Don't you know I was raised to be forgiving? The trick is to look at your grief sideways, in between the eyebrows, never the pupils whose truth could turn you to salt and stone. You have to look at your gripe through a window, but the glass should be dirty, foggy. Huff hot air so it blurs, the outside blobs hard to make out and easy enough to dismiss when asked whether you remember what happened that night. It works sometimes. You think I don't know? Nothing really stops the pain from crystallizing, not even the steam of anger. You think I don't know that the wrong is there, still, an eclipse that blinds, a Greek myth that doesn't let me look back? It'll kill me. I know. I'll keep staring off into the distance until it does."
          
          
          
          "ألا تدري أنني رُبيت لأكون صَفوحًا؟
          الحيلة تكمن في النظر لرثائك مواربةً، أو بين حاجبيه، بدلًا عن عَينيه، اللتين تُضمِران ما قد يُحيلك مِلحًا و صخرًا.
          يجب أن تجعل بينك و بين مرأى وجعك زجاجًا وضِرًا، أن تنفخ زفيرًا على سطحه إلى أن يتغيّم، إلى أن يصبح عسِرًا الجزم بحوافّه، سهلًا إنكاره، لما تُسأل إن كنتَ تتذكر ما حدث تلك الليلة.
          قد ينجح الأمر أحيانًا.
          أتظنني غير مدرك؟ أن لا شيء يمنع الألم من التبلوُر، ليس حتى صهد الغضب.
          أتعتقدني لا أبصر العطب؟ هناك، مثل كسوفٍ مُعمٍ، أحدوثةً من أحاديث الإغريق، تلعنني و تمنعني من الالتفات؟
          إنه يُفنيني، أدرك ذلك، لكنني سأشيح بعينيّ نحو الأفق، إلى أن يفعل."

Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on groceries
          took the bus home
          carried both bags with two good arms
          back to my studio apartment
          and cooked myself dinner.
          You and I may have different definitions
          of a good day
          This week, I paid my rent and my credit
          card bill,
          worked 60 hours between my two jobs,
          only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks
          and slept like a rock.
          Flossed in the morning,
          locked my door,
          and remembered to buy eggs.
          My mother is proud of me.
          It is not the kind of pride she brags about
          at the golf course.
          She doesn't combat topics like, "My
          daughter got into Yale"
          with, "Oh yeah, my daughter remembered
          to buy eggs"
          But she is proud.
          See, she remembers what came before
          this.
          The weeks where I forgot how to use my
          muscles,
          how I would stay as silent as a thick fog
          for weeks.
          She thought each phone call from an
          unknown number was the notice of my
          suicide.
          These were the bad days.
          My life was a gift that I wanted to return.
          My head was a house of leaking faucets
          and burnt-out lightbulbs.
          Depression, is a good lover
          So attentive; has this innate way of
          making everything about you.
          And it is easy to forget that your bedroom
          is not the world,
          That the dark shadows your pain casts is
          not mood-lighting
          It is easier to stay in this abusive
          relationship than fix the problems it has
          created.
          Today, I slept in until 10,
          cleaned every dish I own,
          fought with the bank.
          took care of paperwork.
          You and I might have different definitions
          of adulthood.
          I don't work for salary, I didn't graduate
          from college,
          but I don't speak for others anymore,
          and I don't regret anything I can't
          genuinely apologize for.
          And my mother is proud of me.
          I burned down a house of depression,
          I painted over murals of greyscale,
          and it was hard to rewrite my life into one
          I wanted to live
          But today, I want to live
          I didn't salivate over sharp knives,
          or envy the boy who tossed himself off the
          Brooklyn bridge.
          I just cleaned my bathroom,
          did the laundry,
          called my brother
          told him,"it was a good day."*

https://psyche.co/guides/how-to-use-philosophy-to-overcome-the-fear-of-your-own-death
          ♦

أمرّ على الدّيار ديار ليلى
          أُقبّل ذا الجدارا وذا الجدارا
          وما حُبّ الدّيار سكنّ قلبي
          ولكن حبّ من سكن الديارا.

هل فكّرتِ يومًا.. إلى أين؟ 
          المراكب تعرفُ إلى أين.
          والأسماكُ تعرف إلى أين.
          وأسراب السنونو تعرف إلى أين.
          إلا نحن.. نحن نتخبّط في الماء.. ولا نغرق
          ونلبس ثياب السفر.. ولا نسافر
          ونكتب المكاتيب.. ولا نرسلها
          ونحجز تذكرتين
          على كلّ الطائرات المُسافرة
          ونبقى في المطار.. أنتِ وأنا
          أجبن مسافرَيْن عرفهما العصر.*

شُؤون صغيرة
          تمرّ بها أنت.. دون التفاتٍ
          تساوي لديّ حياتي
          جميع حياتي
          حوادث.. قد لا تُثير اهتمامك
          أُعمّر منها قصورًا
          وأحيا عليها شهورًا
          وأغزل منها حكايا كثيرة
          وألف سماء..
          وألف جزيرة..
          شؤون.. شؤونك تلك الصغيرة.*

GIRL I MISSED YOU