I was a volcano erupting of tears, long suppressed tears of anger that finally surrendered. I have been piling up everything I couldn’t speak of. Behind the notion of being a warrior with a rusty armor, I was afraid, and I was alone.
He stood at the door for a minute as I was weeping, and he was inspecting my feelings through the seconds between the rise and fall of my chest. He was wearing a black sweater and grey sweatpants. I could tell that my tears were contagious, and he didn’t like to see me cry.
I looked up at him, we eye-contacted. I inhaled, held my breath to contain my tears as he looked at me with penetrating eyes, and then I exhaled as he was contemplating, piercing through my thoughts, reading my mind the way he always does.
He took his shoes off, and his sweater, then crawled beside me on my bed. He tucked himself in, and placed his sweater over me, although it was obvious to him that my blanket was thick enough, but it’s like he knew that the remaining of his scent on his sweater would heal my wounds partially.
He held me in his arms in the purest form, kissed my head from the back, and did not say a word. He gently rubbed my shoulders. And suddenly, with his calm, deep breaths, there was alchemy in my sorrow; I was sad, but peacefully sad, and my hurricanes were still.
I knew that he was right there beside me, having flawless feelings towards me, protecting me from the monsters that scream inside my head. He had superhuman abilities of projecting his feelings clearly without any verbal communication.
Since my adolescence, I have made peace with the fact that I was not a single person, but a pair; the nine-year-old child who was inside in a place unmoved by time, and my recent self who changes and grows as the rest of humans do. But the child is a secret, a long-kept secret that is silently concealed at a dinner table while everyone is busy socializing, or in the park tucked away behind the bushes while everyone else is either playing, or reading. The entrancement of the atmosphere that I was locked in was that, he was the merger of my pair; he was strong enough to contain both my fears and my powers.
I never cry around people, because I have always been a victim of the idea that tears are weakness, and weakness should be concealed. But with him, my tears were rather a graceful waterfall, and he traced every teardrop with his finger as if it were sacred water.
As dusk was spreading its last rays of sun on my bedsheets, I turned to him and hugged him so tight. And I was going back to the roots of my soul that explodes with colors and light on the horizon.
After that, I knew that my shattered pieces would never fit together without his arms containing me, for he was the sun, and I reflected his light.
© 2014 ALIA SULTAN