They said they couldn’t reach a point of compromise with you. That it was because you didn’t seem to have that same affection for them, the kind that came so naturally to you for me.
But I think they’re liars. I think they saw too much of me in you to really love you; too much of me in your too big for your tiny frame confidence
In your tresses and in your tantrums
In your big brown eyes with even bigger dreams, quick to observe and quicker to come to tears
In your heart that you guarded ferociously
Open and straightforward, brutally honest with others and yet too sensitive to pain yourself
In the ease with which you switched languages
In your imagination, your 100 different names
In your laughter which was annoyance for them
In your silence and your whispers as they tickled my neck ‘Last night, I dreamt this dream…’
In your spontaneous songs humming away in the back yard during a Ramadan summer
They said they were tired of going round in circles, as if they were free of blame. They failed to see humans can’t ascend to the playing field of angels, and you were nothing short of an angel: amused, unaffected by what they said, when they said
They couldn’t reach a point of compromise with you.