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Dima Safieddine May 2014
I still long for your hug.
I can't stop my eyes from tearing up whenever your memory decides to trouble my peace.
Maybe you were right; I can't help but see you in the flawless image I first drew.
I can't help but feel the innocence shinning through your face, the warmth of your eyes hugging me.
Should I consider myself a left toy?
Was I an ugly one, or did you realize you had something more beautiful?
I'm happy I had you.
I know you still have me.
Maybe someday my malleable heart'll into stone.. I promise though you'll find your name carved at the center.

You left me hungry for your love but I don't know how suddenly I feel so satisfied.
I expected myself to break and bruise my own skin with the shattered pieces of the glass castle we once built.
It was only one rock, one that was aimed so wisely, that made everything fall apart.
I still don't know who threw that rock.
I often find myself wondering.
I still believe there are some metal boxes in that house, boxes that not even that rock can break, that not even your flame can burn.
I hope you're able to find the treasure I find when I open them.

Probably you saw our castle as a little camp.
The weekend's over; it's time to go home now.
I thought I was your home.
Dima Safieddine Apr 2014
They say time heals wounds. I’m still waiting for the time that hearing your voice won’t make me feel like there’s an elephant in my throat. I’m still waiting for the time that seeing your face won’t make my heart scream for you, ripping its own seams in the process. I’m still waiting for the time when passing you by won’t make me weak at the knees, won’t make my spine shiver and my lungs suffocate.

They say time heals wounds. How will my wounds heal when the knife is still in my back, when the bullets are still in my chest? How will my wounds heal when whenever I remember to live, your memory pours salt on my cuts? How will my wounds heal when you haven’t even returned what’s left of my heart yet?

They say time heals wounds. Does that mean that I won’t see your face whenever I close my eyes? Does that mean that I won’t find you in every song I listen to? Does that mean I’ll stop hugging myself to sleep at night, feeling homesick for you? Does that mean I’ll be able to love again? and how will I ever love again, when I often find my soul wandering in the places our love was born, searching for you?
Dima Safieddine Apr 2014
I want him to have a beard.
I want him to read.
I want him to feel the weight of words on his chest.
I want him to always feel his heart skip a beat when I tell him I love him.
I want him to know the value of ‘I love you’.
I want him to be educated.
I want him to look through things.
I want him to overlook superficials.
I want him to be tall.
I want him to be sportive.
I want him to be well built.
I want him to take care of himself,
I want him to take care of me too.
I want him to worthy his family.
I want him to put God first.
I want him to have ambitions.
I want him to feel comfortable with me through silences.
I want him to be home, my home.
I want him to have black hair.
I want him to be social.
I want him to be proud of me.
I want him to have brown eyes.
I want him to make me believe in forever.
I want him to appreciate the little stuff.
I want him to make me feel safe.
I want him to give up his soul to singers singing their sorrow.
I want him to value the little things.
I want him to wear tuxedos.
I want him to wear dress shirts and ties.
I want him to find comfort in pain.
I want him to despise smoking.
I want him to see that enjoying your life is beyond partying and getting drunk.
I want him to keep his promises.
I want him to see women as equal to men as 1 is equal to 1.
I want him to like kids.
I want him to be committed.
I want him to understand the emptiness I feel inside,
I want him to fill it.
I want him to be brave.
I want him to be protective.
I want him to not be ashamed to cry.
I want him to support me.
I want him to get along with the people I love.
I want him to be the missing piece that completes my puzzle.
I want him to be my source of peace.
I want him to hug me tight, and never let go.
I want him to want me.

Or maybe I don’t want any of those things, maybe I just want him to fall for me and catch me as I fall for him too.
Dima Safieddine Mar 2014
I’m falling into that trap again. Suddenly, the balance isn’t equal anymore because my heart decided to love more, again. Just when I thought that what we had is scheme-free, that the love is shared, that I’m your base just like you’re mine.. everything changed. Now any move from you can shatter me. You took over every acre of my weak field, you took over me, and I became so fragile, so needy for you. And the more I grow attached to you, the more you grow to be independent from me. Am I selfish, for wanting to receive love just for the simple fact that I’m giving it? Am I giving my heart to you because I want your heart? Or is it a selfless love? But if it is a selfless love, then why am I aching? why am I hurting? why am I expecting? Does loving you, alone, make me good enough? Does it make me deserve to have your arms as my home? Is this real, or am I making it up? Are you aware of what I’m feeling? Why am I writing? So maybe you’d hear my screams? I don’t want you to hear, I want you to listen. I want you to listen carefully until you realize that I’m yours, even if you aren't mine. Listen carefully, until you feel my love so maybe it’d awaken a flame for me in your cold heart.
Dima Safieddine Mar 2014
My heart was a locked door, and though you had the keys, you decided to enter in the cruelest ways. You decided to kick it, kick it so hard until it smashed and broke into pieces that cut through the walls and drew your name in splattered blood. The cuts still bleed even when you’re here. My heart was a crime scene. You killed everybody, you brutally murdered everybody until there was no room for anyone else, no room for me to even love myself. You came without your heart, you only brought your weapons. You kept shooting me with arrows and with every shot, I ached more for you. I was so weak beneath your feet, a doormat you enjoyed walking on, and I lovingly screamed your name with every step.

— The End —