And when I was far from home,
in another land, with Travelers who rented about their homes, I remembered you.

I remembered how warm you were.
From one plate to another, my tongue could taste them all.my mother’s fingers kneading dough, separating couscous grains, the annoying heat when she decided to make Mhadjeb.

I could taste every sweet they once made:
Bradj, Baghrir, Kalb El Louz. even the Eid sweets we used to steal at night with cousins and siblings, all of us in matching Jebbas, lying on mattresses on the floor.

We cried from holding in our laughter, gossiping about family drama, who married who, who said what, and our own little dramas too. dancing to our songs:
Chaabi, Gharbi, Staifi, even rai.

How lovely were the times in the kitchen, baking and cooking,while peeking at both our mothers’ drama, and our fathers’ political debates.

I remembered strangers on the street,their humility, their kindness,proof that goodness still exists. And I still believe,
I still believe in the good.
I still believe in you.

So that my childhood will never fade,
I will listen to your songs,
wear your clothes,
drink your tea,
eat your food,
speak to your people,
to never forget
my love for you.

If I had the chance to relive one part of my life,

I’d do things differently with us.

I’d say “I love you” more often than I did,

and press a kiss to your lips the night we met.

I’d bring you flowers, yellow roses

just to bring warmth into your life,

because you told me you suffered too much.
I’d hold you tighter if I had the chance,

rest my head on your chest more, not less.


I’d place a kiss on the tip of your nose,

and maybe we’d get married

and dance to your favourite song.

I’d tell my mother you were the one.

I’d declare to her there was nothing but us.

I’d say something better
than “we’re too young,”

because it was such a silly thing to keep us apart.

But we were just kids, stupidly in love

and what could we do

when we were only thirteen years old?

If time were kind enough to give me another moment,

I’d learn how to listen to the silences

hidden between your words.

I’d keep every secret you trusted me with

and guard it like a treasure.

I’d walk beside you longer,
even when the road got dark,

and I’d whisper your name
like a promise
I meant to keep.
But time doesn’t wait,
and the past stays where it belongs.


All I can do now is carry your memory
like sunlight in my hands,

forgive the children we once were,

and thank you for teaching me

what love felt like the first time.

And if some distant evening

our paths should cross again,

I’ll smile at you softly

and hope you’ll know without words

that I always loved you

then, now, and in every life

where I get another chance.

And until that day,

I’ll plant yellow roses in gardens that aren’t ours,

watch them bloom and wither without you.
I’ll hear our songs in empty rooms,

and dance alone under a sky

that keeps its stars to itself.

It won’t change the past,

but it will remind me gently

how something so young

could still ache like forever.

I’ll walk down streets that feel like echoes,
where every shadow holds a memory of your face.

Sometimes I’ll whisper your name into the wind

just to feel it leave my mouth again.
Sometimes I’ll close my eyes

and picture the life we might have built

not to torture myself, but to keep it real

for a few more heartbeats.

And when the seasons turn,

I’ll stand at the edge of winter,

holding a single yellow rose,

knowing it will never reach you
but still lifting it toward the sky
 as if it might.


Because even if we never meet again,
somewhere in the quiet between my breaths
you’re still there,
thirteen and smiling,

and I’m still reaching for you.

i wonder if I’ll ever fall as hard and fast as I did when I was 14.

i’m in a new house, now.
a new room.
it’s gentle here.
safer than anywhere I’ve ever been.
it’s missing a few touches still, perhaps a poster or two.
perhaps it’s missing you.

you always seemed to make a space feel more like home to me.
with careful hands
you tinkered with my own vision of where I was,
who I was,
Who I am.
in my childhood bedroom you pressed me against the window, kissed me
whirled me around, treading on soft carpets
curled locks of hair around your fingers,
cradled me to sleep.
we broke a bed, bought a new one.

we played house like we were old and married.
teasing each other, loving each other.
You taught me how to be.
you took a simple pillow, or a blanket,
flicked on the switch of a warm lamp light
put your hand in the back pocket of my jeans
and made me feel grown up.

so now I sit in my new room,
in my new house,
with my new friends,
drinking pints in the pub, cooking in the kitchen,
playing house.
making a home.
you’re not here, but I see you in the plants on the windowsill.
the candles beside my bed.
the way I can fall asleep a little faster, a little easier.

Maybe I’ve just grown up.
or maybe it will always be you,
and the memory of a life I pretended to have with you
playing out in front of me.
I think all along it was you that was home to me.
you’re everywhere in my room still, in my happiness, in my adulthood.

you showed me what it meant to be safe.
you built me a house in my head that I’ve finally let myself into.
A home.
blue shutters and a door open
for the next time I fall, however hard, however fast.
I hope you’ll come and visit, sometime.