I begin to wonder why we fall in love.
Is it really a trend to break our souls and expect another to kiss our wounds?
Why do we fall in love—is it to learn how to heal or just to have a story to tell?
We all fell when we were children; we learned how to walk and run better.

So why do we fall in love if we are always going to stay broken?
Why don’t we grow in love, nurture the heart yet to be intertwined,
So we can bloom together?

Like scorpions crawling on my skin, jealousy befriends me; stinging at every cost as the mention of another’s name leaves your lips.

For what space am I afraid might be taken?
Taken by a bold one who shows true intentions, or taken by the one you call a friend?
But, a friend is what I am too.

It beats hard, and I am ashamed of what I feel—
Feelings that I might love you more than you will ever know.

He asked me, “What’s your type?”
Why? So you would pretend to be him?
Well, I have no type, but my Father would know.

“Who is your Father?”
The One that fills me with the act of love.
The One that hears my cry and answers.
The King of Kings, the Almighty Allah.

Come, I have asked Him.
My type is that man I would write thousands of poetry for—
Call him my bone and all of my existence,
But he will say, “No, your existence should be God’s presence.”

My type—when I tell him, “I love you from the depth of my heart,”
He would say, “Nah, I can’t take over God’s space, who am I?”
The man that would look in my eyes and will praise God
For blessing him with a vision to see mine.

My type is the kind that moves me closer to God,
To not become one love, but two children
Before their Father’s presence.

I was at the mosque a few days ago after Iftar.
After prayers, I unknowingly said, “Hallelujah.” Heads turned, and some faces displayed disgust, shock, and disbelief.

“Princess, why would you say that?” my friend nudged me by the shoulder.

It wasn’t intentional to say that in the mosque—it’s just a praise word I use. It’s a habit, a good part of me.

But…

I keep thinking about this and similar situations from the past. Is religion a bond or a division?
Do we not serve the same God?

I believe Muslims just pray in a different language (Arabic), while Christians pray in English.
So why is there no unity?

Was religion created to divide us?

Why have there been killings, hatred, and war?
Why is there always debate?
Why are there numerous religions that claim to worship the same Almighty but refuse to believe in one another?
Why does it seem like religion exists to separate the world?

What is the beginning of a belief?

I am a believer, but it’s hard to distinguish between what’s real and what’s not.
Why do we have one God but different religions?
How do we know what is truly right?

My family practices Islam, yet we still practice Christianity.
I don’t choose between them, and I don’t want to.

“You’re still young. As you get older, you will choose one.”

Am I insane to wonder why I must pick a side to please both God and society?
Why is there an expectation to choose when we have learned that God loves and embraces His children equally?

I thought I would vent, write—but these 26 letters can’t contain all my questions.
There is so much I want to ask.
There are beliefs I want to let go of and simply continue communicating with my God the way I always have.

“You need to read the book.”

The books? The Bible? The Qur’an?
The books that tell different stories?
The same religions that believe in different things?

I have so many questions.

If I mention this to someone, they will say I am questioning God.

LOL.

There are heavy words inside me that papers can't hold.
My thoughts are muddled; ears will wince if they are told.

I've become rage; love to hate peace.
1 am grief, my pain has been polished to slit my wrist.

In darkness i dwell, where my regret hunts me
The light i desire but all hope seems to sink
Yet, in the depth of despair, a spark i feel A yearning to heal.