There's a certain serenity in her eyes, chaos buried under her intoxicating smile.
The universe stops. It stops when she talks as if the devil was sermonizing his disciples.
She walks like a feather riding a soothing summer gust. Like a dandelion. Perhaps the Zephyr.
She's like a flower that has managed to bloom in a war. A rebel. She's like the Sisyphus but unlike him, she has managed to roll the boulder atop the hill.
And I'm a monster. A sinner. She's my redemption. Only she knows how to tame me. I'm myself in her presence. Ali again.
She's like a cat. Independent, fearless, dangerous, and mischievously luring. And it's as if she has chosen me as her human.
How did I get so lucky? To have a home this beautiful. Yes, she's my home! My tranquility. The serotonin to my nerves. The motherly kiss on my forehead. The warmth of the fire in a snowstorm. Rain in a desert.
All my life I had looked. I had looked for the missing part of my soul. Like a swimmer swimming the ocean in circles. Now I've found it. She's the other half of my soul. My completion. The search stops with her. Now I'm catching my breath in her arms, exhausted, traumatized.
Death? The truth of the matter is, I have never been afraid of dying. The only thing I'm afraid of is immortality. Of awakening after dying.
With her, I'm willing to live forever. I'd blindly choose to do laundry with her for eternity than any other worldly pleasure.
Oh to dance with her in the living room. To sing with her in the shower. To cook for her in the kitchen and make a mess. To pat her cheeks with my flour hands. To trace her stretch marks. To adore her scars. To kiss her moles. To run my fingers through her hair. To apply henna to her perfectly imperfect hands. To tease her by untying her hair. To whisper poetry in her ears. To make her blush with my unexpected cheesy flirts. To wake my neighbors with her moans. I'd give everything. I'd give everything to make her mine and only mine.
I'd curb my order if she's the one creating a mess. I'd prefer her chaos over my orderly life without even thinking twice.
And nothing's more meaningful to a man than to protect what's his. To provide. Take care. But isn't it beautiful that even the beast becomes vulnerable in his woman's arms?
I know she's a beautiful lie. A dream. A fantasy. But, how do you differentiate dreams from reality? There's a thin line between dreaming and real-life experience. You never know which side you're currently on.