The Summer Nights

You didn’t spend even one late summer evening walking last year.

Since yesterday, this thought has kept tugging at the corners of my mind, weaving itself in and out of the otherwise normal conversation which I have (with myself) all day long.

Every time, it brings with it an acidic feeling in my stomach. Rage at myself. Rage from which I have to turn because I believed I was doing the right thing – is3a, wa Anna bas3a ma3aak.

‘Make the effort, and I (Allah) will work with you.’

This, a Muslim belief. So I made all of the effort I had in me to make last summer. One of which was giving up my evenings that I might spend them with him. His sacrifice was the time difference of being seven hours ahead.

If he had been the right man, this conversation which I am having with myself would result in a different ending. But he was not, and so the conversation is now bubbling with new resentment against myself.

One summer; five months.

I want them back. Each of those nights, I want them back.

Today, I am grateful for:
1. Being at sea. It’s surprising how comfortable I have become without a plan. This, it will be a piece unto itself soon enough.
2. No longer needing to know. As someone whose mind is not naturally quiet, but rather always needing to understand the why of a thing, I am equally surprised at how much this side of me has changed over these last three months. Time will tell if this is permanent, or if it is only with regards particular subjects. Either way, it is welcome.
3. Secrets. This sabbatical has taught me how to work quietly, without a need to share or discuss anything with anyone. It has been an eye-opener how much more calm my world is. My mind forces itself to quiet when it only has itself with whom to discuss a thing, and the quiet provides crystal clarity. This, at least, I know is a new peace-making habit formed which will continue.

Paris | Feb 28, 2019

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