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 “Yellow paper and a red pen” she said. "Use a pencil,” he said, “it’s smoother on paper.” Write whatever comes to mind as it comes to mind, that's what I imagine Virginia would’ve said. A stream of consciousness is sometimes what is needed to see, to perceive, to absorb.

I am not a robot. That’s what keeps on playing in my head. I am connected to people, things -to life. This connection brings me back to Earth, makes me grounded, even when I feel like I’m floating up in space. 

Going back to thoughts of connections, of emotional bonding with whomever I’ve encountered, I remember Amal. We’ve just had a phone call, one that can be anything but light. “Do you believe? I don’t care if you do or don’t, but it is true.” She kept on repeating this sentence one way or the other for a full hour. And in my head, I had no doubts that it was true. We are connected to the people around us, even when they’re thousands of kilometers away. We’re connected in ways I cannot fathom nor absorb. But its shimmering light is so blinding that you cannot unsee it.

I am reminded by that time I found myself, without any expectancy, saying: “I am here for you. I will love you for you, I will take care of your thoughts for you.” I said it unconsciously, and involuntarily (there are involuntary actions after all -perhaps). I never believed in connections, or spirituality extending farther from the one we share with the divine, no matter how we choose to define such a thing. Even this I always believed was a matter of actions, of doing good and being good. But deeper links with the divine, or anything in its manifestation? Never.

But today, I do. I wholeheartedly do. I remember that morning I so genuinely thanked God for all that He’s brought to my life so far, no matter how ambiguous it seemed. I expressed my appreciation, and how grateful I was. I, then, prayed for whomever came to mind. I prayed for myself, a few family members, my friends, and the universe. And I prayed for Nourine to have a better life. I prayed with nothing on mind but that this, the prayer, was nothing but an act of showing gratitude, full subordination. Moments later, she called, telling me that her mother was finally okay to get out of the hospital.

Causality or not, it didn’t matter. But I felt Him answering me, I felt it was a two-way conversation, and most importantly, I felt I was heard, because I didn’t ask for anything in return.

“I love you,” I said, “and I want nothing in return.”

A written stream of consciousness is sometimes all you need to see, to finally be, for the truth is alternating according to the state of mind, or perhaps according to the universe, the alternating nature of the universe. Every day, everything is in a new shape and form. And us? Poor us, not knowing which is which. Moments come and go. Memories persist, so stubborn to be. And people, people come and go, and that’s the only way things go. But I, I don’t want you to go. But one needs to realize that life doesn’t go the way one wants it to go.

Music brings solace, and right now being away from me by God only knows (and perhaps Google) how many kilometers, music is highly efficient. I play your music because I would’ve wanted you to be here now, to absorb what I cannot. To get what I cannot. To pat on my head that once we sleep all will go back to its natural order. And there is never a natural order. Everything in ordered and reordered in the instant, and this doesn’t always require something as powerful as death to understand its extent. 

Order is chaotic.

Death is the only thing that awakens citizens of whatever land there is. It’s nature’s loudest scream that reminds one of his own nature. Not even birth is capable of doing such a thing. Birth is organized, sought after or escaped, and wondering about it only lasts a few seconds i.e., on hearing one’s first cry. Death is the ultimate reminder of life, and the truest.

My dear, you and I are dead, watching the living from afar, and from a point so close that we cannot even understand it. (I wish you and I were actually dead, so that I could take off that stupid sweatshirt that’s so stubbornly suffocating me!) Our spirits collide, protecting the grizzlies or not it doesn’t matter.

I wish you and I were everywhere, all at once. We’d roam the deserts, run in the forests, swim in every sea and ocean, then finally jump from that high cliff, finally regaining what was lost in the hills, the scraps of what’s left of our souls here and there. “You and she have left something here. you are connected to the place.” And I said that night “we cannot be together just as I cannot stay here.”

I am not a robot. I have feelings, emotions I cannot understand. They’re so immense that I cannot see them clearly. I defend myself against them with all my might, they are the grizzlies of my being. But a leap of faith is sometimes all it takes for believing you’re not actually a robot. For believing that you have those you cannot name, for believing there are numerous ways in which the mind and the whole universe act.

Grief comes in all shapes and forms, because death is always around. Lurking in the shadows and in clear sight. I read once that to certain people losing someone and therefore missing them feels like they’ve actually died, feels like grief. And this feeling doesn’t need a book for you to summon its extent or its boundaries.

Only memories remain. And this is capable of torturing us, killing us slowly, and with the same speed reviving our connected spirits that are so tired to remain dead and still.

It is the memories that would stop me from attending your wedding this weekend. I cannot make myself forget how you made me feel. How alone you made me feel. How you made me suffer from something I didn’t anticipate, something I have been running away from all my life. I cannot congratulate you when there’s this burden on my chest, that cannot be fixed by a slap as the one I gave you a few years ago. This is far deeper than that. The slap was out of love, of anger for your own self. A projection I so much wanted to cry out. Right now, there are no tears to be found. You’ve left, and it felt like you’ve died.

“One needs to realize that the missing won’t go, so let it prosper and take its shape.” But it was not missing that I’ve felt, it was grief. And I do not know how I can smile at the face of someone who’s died.

I am not an image of you, and neither are you an image of me. But connections, connections my dear, cannot be absorbed nor fathomed.

We’ll watch the grizzlies from afar, and at the end you and I would go our separate ways. I’d stay on the island, holding onto that memory of us, not knowing that memories would haunt me wherever I went. Or perhaps that’s the very reason to my stay; I wouldn’t want your memory to haunt me, so I’d live with it. I’d let it prosper and take its shape.
Then, when the moment comes, I’d go. I'd leave you of the memory behind, holding nothing but a backpack with all the letters I’ve so stubbornly kept on writing you.
I’d throw them in the nearest river- the only place we’ve never been to.