“Why so protective,” you asked.
i never answered your question. before i took off you told me what you almost did, but never. And now that will be our never. all the humour and your companionship for a mere two and a half days is enough to leave me dazed – i dislike you for that.
i will remember the walk to the temple, our conversation where you taught me about Shias and Sunnis and Geopolitics. and bewildering questions that you got from others in the past, because i am just as curious as any outsider is.
even without the beer we were warm. Haram, we joked through the night. Funny you. protective, because all this is fleeting – and i know i will be forgotten soon, a memory buried beneath all the fun times you will enjoy in time to come.
despite my passiveness and boundaries, you still got into my head in the end.
i like how we share ambiguously and openly.
what do i tell you, things that i didn’t say? and probably, they will never be heard. you have been kind to me, placing something as fragile as trust in my careless hands since the very moment we met. you do not question my faith, but you had your doubt about others. is this what you meant by ‘different’?
you are, actually. other than my sister, i have never tugged at anyone else’s blankets to wake them up. and with you i have allowed myself to be as unguarded despite restraining and reminding myself to be cautious. how is that possible?
this friendship is unique – perhaps once in a lifetime, so special it was only valid for three days. maybe it will rekindle again some day when we meet, perhaps our souls will be quicker to recognise each other if the wrinkles on our face have surfaced.
and here i will continue to be, protective – of you, of this memory, of all that ever lasted past moments.