By Hussain Kachwala
It is not healthy for me, I know.
A slow working poison, I know.
Eats away at the walls of my heart, I know.
Makes me question my own conscience, I know.
Though you all seem to notice my burden beyond the wall my friends, you seem to have forgotten the weight of that which remains unsaid.
For when I see her in this mind of mine, I find myself smiling.
My eyes turn dark like the infinite night sky with a twinkle of light like the same stardust she's made from.
You say it's not real but blame the idealist this time, as I don't believe you. For what is real and what is fiction if not merely what we perceive it to be?
As I bleed my ink onto paper and see that the sparrows occupy the heavens as I write, it feels real to me.
For how long will the gates be closed, manned by fear and guilt? Has my past plagued me so?
I refuse.
For how long will I sit idly by as my enemies have the upper hand?
Open the gates and let me spread my wings, let me pierce through aether itself and fight for my reality.
Let me wade through the waters of this tumultuous tempest and embrace the storm.
Let me smile as hellfire burns me to cinders, for if it is her I'm fighting for, each scar is worth it.
And if I fall, may it be glorious.
And to you, my friends, I request
That it be known beyond the wall, until time loses its meaning, the poison did not end my story, I did.
By Hussain Kachwala
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