You fala-fill me with joy.
Your arms have welcomed me ever since I arrived in this strange city,
With its hordes of people and buildings that reach endlessly into a sky with no stars.
You have always been there,
When I’ve been sick,
You’ve been there,
On my best days,
And my worst.
You’ve congratulated me when I’ve finished my midterms,
You’ve nourished me when my body has ached,
You’ve comforted me when I’ve been homesick,
You’ve brought me joy, time and time and time again.
You’ve loved me.
One night, some weeks ago, I came to you in a haze.
It was late, and my heart felt hollow.
My mascara had amassed into a dark smudge beneath my waterlines, and my hair was rather disheveled, gathered into a clump of curls atop my head.
My legs were sore and my brain was tired and I just wanted to go to bed,
Just wanted to go home.
And in a way I suppose I did.
There you were,
As you always are,
Beckoning me with your warm light.
I followed you (oh, how I’d follow you anywhere), and you spoke to me:
You told me I wasn’t alone.
Ah, but this must seem so trite!
All lovers speak of their beloveds with the same silly cliches.
But what else to say to you?
You care for me constantly (except on the weekends, when you drive far away),
Your love is priceless (save for the six or seven dollars I give you each time we convene),
You give me everything I could ever desire (as long as it’s halal);
And, at the risk of sounding lewd, I must say you satisfy me greatly;
Thus I cannot help but express my tenderness.
You are my spirit,
My cart and soul.
Halal Cart and Soul via Bwog Archives