Drifting apart.

I want to say I am torn up about this perhaps on some level I am. But I can’t feel it any more because I have now locked up my heart, encased it in cement and thrown it into the Pacific Ocean to never be found again.

Yes.. thats why I can’t cry about this.

I won’t cry about it.

Its like we drifted apart like two pieces of an ice burg that chipped off and found different currents.

Could I say I loved him? Yes. That this affection or love or what ever the hell you call it was mutual. Only Allah knows.

The irony is that he was curious about me at first. He wanted to keep in contact as friends. Oh my fickle heart couldn’t do friends. He wasn’t the most handsome man on the planet. But by Allah’s will he was like the other half of my mind in another body.

Dear Ireland. If you only knew the secret hopes I sheltered from you. Things that a woman only dares to hope perhaps once or twice in her life time. Did I feel like I was settling with you.. not until slowly it became my job to maintain the relationship.

Regardless of the distance I was willing to problem solve. I was willing to move. I was willing to help because I thought – maybe he’s the one- this man could be the other half of my Deen.

So there are things we didn’t match each other on. I was the more religious one. You – believed that maybe that would fade with time – you didn’t have to say it but I could read it on your face as I encouraged you to work on your Salat. That wide grin splitting your face- sheepish- and hoping that I wouldn’t press for an answer on – “So how did your salat go today?”

You are the diplomatic one – oh so Persian it was sometimes down right shocking. So worried to offend or hurt anyone let alone me. This is how we so silently drifted apart – you saying nothing and I working harder than ever to maintain – what you no longer thought worth your time.

We could talk for hours about everything and nothing. There was never a time our conversation repeated itself. But the drifting began when you visited your family in Iran.

I didn’t want to be pushy.. but I was dying to ask about everything and anything concerning this new nation we had declared between us. How did your family react? Did you tell them? What did your Mom say? What did your Dad say?

And I waited but never a word or voluntary sharing even after the flag on our new nation was raised between us and the world. Why did I always have to be the one to ask..” So what do you think?”

Perhaps the DMZ between our cultures was too much – I the open American and you the shrouded Persian.

So now.. here I am our nation state razed to the ground by your lack of participation. I tried my best.. but a relationship can not be one sided.

Even Mr Darcy.. perhaps one of literary characters who played his hand close to his chest – said to his Elizabeth:

” Miss Elizabeth. I have struggled in vain and I can bear it no longer. These past months have been a torment. I came to Rosings with the single object of seeing you… I had to see you. I have fought against my better judgment, my family’s expectations, the inferiority of your birth by rank and circumstance. All these things I am willing to put aside and ask you to end my agony.”

Elizabeth replied, “I don’t understand.”

Mr Darcy,”I love you.”

Alhumdualillah you never said those words – for indeed even with my heart at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean – I would have shed at least a single tear.


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