I’m writing because I believe that is unfair to both of us that you left for Hungry and I never got to tell you how much you mean to me.

Why is it that you can feel as if you belong to a person—even if you’ve just met. There is just something about them that is different that causes you to want to get to know them. Every inch of them from the wrinkles in their forehead to the calluses on their feet.

Pressure gathers inside my rib cage. Throbbing, aching then sudden numbness. I feel weightless as I sit, disconnected from my body. A prisoner of my mind.

I can feel the hurricane swelling up inside of me. Outside there is sunshine and the birds are singing but in the depths of my soul the sky is a murky purple, rain pours, and lighting flashes in angry spells.

Words fail me. I am beyond heartbroken, angry, disgusted and confused at the undeniable racism in our country.

I want to be able to put into words. The thoughts and feelings that are rushing through my head right now. That are dominating my heart and my actions like a puppet master. I want to have an answer, a remedy, a magical potion that I can drink that will clear my mind and allow me to focus. 

As I’m sitting here at my little perch in the library, a wave of loneliness has washed over me and I’m not quite certain as to why. Truthfully, that is a little bit of a lie. Part of me does know why I’m lonely but I don’t want to acknowledge it

Q would ask me to describe how I feel. What are the words that I feel on the inside right now? Are the positive or are they negative? I feel ashamed.

Shameful.

I’m exactly three pages into Reema Zaman’s memoir I am Yours. I started it yesterday when the power in my apartment when out because it was storming like crazy.

You are crazy. You are absurd. You are weird.

He is large and hungry and wants to devour me. But before he attacks me, he leaves me to suffer. Forcing me to wait. It’s his favorite war tactic.