Nostalgia by Abrar AlShammari

To say that I miss it would be a gross understatement to the sheer beauty of what we had

To say that I long for it like an exile longs for his homeland would be peppering poetry with too much politics

It’s wistfulness, when my feet feel too dry of a sudden, 

and I miss dipping my toes into the water with you

It’s hunger, when somewhere between my morning coffee and afternoon cigarette,

I can taste bits of you on my tongue

It’s yearning, when I go through days when I am no longer whole,

but merely half.

It’s thirst, when my throat, mouth, and lips are all parched and dry,

because of how long it’s been since I’ve had you in my system.

It’s greed, when this beautiful man in front of me swears he loves me and promises me the world, and I still look the other way,

hoping for you to magically come along to pick up right where we left off

It’s hysteria, when my ears play tricks on me

and I think I hear your voice calling my name

It’s pain, when my hands twitch

as I reminisce over how perfect they used to look,

when they were entangled with yours

It’s withdrawal, when my heart, body and soul ache for you so badly

that I can’t get out of bed because I haven’t been able to function

since my last lethal dose of you

I need you to understand that it’s more than just a persistent, painful desire.

It’s worse than that, because it can’t ever be fulfilled – and that’s the worst of all desires.

A need is a need regardless of its nature,

but how do you quench that thirst when what you need

is now a part of nature?

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