~
i once swore that i would never pray again.
when i painfully stripped myself of faith
all those years ago,
i took an oath
that I would only treat
the expanse of the universe
as nothing but barren space.
but now, i've lost you,
and i have come to resent this belief.
or, rather,
my lack thereof.
do not misunderstand me.
i do not wish to go back
to the life where I had to offer
each step i take
to a supposed almighty man --
a man who,
with all his power and greatness,
allowed me
to be loved so poorly in the past.
but now, i've lost you,
and i spend each waking moment
staring at the empty space beside me.
this bed used to be an altar
where i could lay my flesh and bones
and you would treat me like
the holy grail itself.
now, the emptiness stares right back
with its mocking eyes,
harshly rubbing salt into the open wound
that sits on my heart.
there is nothing there anymore, yet so much lingers.
now, a part of my soul is hollow.
when there was you,
i sent a piece of my heart
on a journey across the sea
without knowing if i would
ever get it back.
i did it simply because i
submitted to this love
in its entirety.
with all the kilometers of land
and water it stretched over,
all of the sacrifices it demanded,
all of its impossibilities --
i revered it blindly.
but now, i've lost you,
and yet again,
i am stripped of faith.
this time, however,
i was robbed.
i did not wish for this to happen.
now, there is a piece of my heart that wanders
through places i will never know.
there is nothing more for me to do
but desperately send out
silent screams
into the void
like prayers,
hoping that my words
echo through the desolate universe
and across our great divide —
even if, by the time they reach you,
they arrive in mere whispers.
if you can hear me,
i am still here.
and i can feel you out there.
please hold that piece of my heart as an offering, and carry it with you until we meet once more, at the edge of eternity.
thank you for reminding me what devotion feels like.
for Waqas,
thank you