The Night Has Arms

Remember

when we said

we’d do all the things

we’re never going to do?

 

Remember

how promises hung heavy

in our hearts,

but flew lightly

from our lips?

 

Do you

remember

our naivety

and how we mistook it for

hope?

 

 

I do.

 

 

Some say I

remember

too much, that the grooves

in my brain

were made by the weight

of my memories.

 

They say

my mind collapsed

in on itself.

 

Is that what you believe?

 

Because I’m not sure

I trust

my instincts

around you.

 

But I’ll still ask

you to hold

me at night—

and your touch

will be cold and faint,

and I’ll wonder if I’m

really being held

by anything more than

the night air.

 

So, my brain will try

to take charge

of my heart

only to realize it is an impossible feat.

 

He’s there.

He’s there.

He’s holding you.

 

For someone

who feels too much,

it’s odd I can’t feel

you.

 

Copyright notice:

© Zeinab Hassan Fawaz and Broken Dolls, 2017. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

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