A neat love is kind of a myth; you know you don’t plant it, until it happens to you; it remains a myth no more. It’ll happen; you wouldn’t get enough time to figure it out, it’ll be impulsive and bashful, it’ll be quiet and galactic, it’ll be sound and chaos, it’ll be impatient and demanding but whatever it is, it’ll be the one thing that will make you want to die of satisfaction almost instantly. Satisfaction is something we crave for, naturally so, we’re hopeless. It’s this satisfaction that two unlike souls scavenge, in middle of a thundering chaos or perfect bliss; it’s this that makes us tear the world upside down for one single person.
I don’t understand my Qatib and I don’t understand what he wants from me. I’ve already personified devotion, I’ve already have corrected my vows and I’ve already witnessed my sorrows. Even after so much and so more, my fate is a butt of ridicule. I’ve stayed longer than I should, more than a memory I suppose, waiting to be rekindled like embers and butterflies, without hope.
You know the last time I loved a woman; she struggles between being my muse and my other half. She instilled in me fearless and I knew right when I saw her, there breathed something holy inside her. It’s quite a tragedy that, neither of us have anything to complain about to each other, solitude and periodic reassurances are so overrated.
We were, like the snow storm that struck the west and it was inevitable to run away or holler about the city of swoon, betrayed by fate as it was, we talk about it like we shared the bad part of it, but no, it was probably me. There was inevitability in us and I don’t think it will be skipped, things will conspire and we shall have a collision, oblivious as we advance.

~Ubair Fayaz Fazili

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