Before I sleep, I have this image of your body under the rubble. Then I pick up my phone and go to our photos.
Today, I ate ice cream. It’s been a long time since I did. I know you’re in a better place, but I wanted you here with me. I wanted to buy you the chocolate flavor that you liked; it would be my treat.
When coming from my exchange program in the United States, I wanted to bring you that Barcelona T-shirt you liked, and heavy winter gloves because your hands are always cold in the winter.
I’m trying to heal, my friend. I go for long runs. At the end of the road, I see you, standing tall. You don’t seem happy though. You’re making that face you used when complaining about your unhappy times.
Why are you fading? I’m coming. I’m running faster. I can hear your “Jadah ya Hoda — you’re a strong and great person, Hoda.” You always told me this.
Before I sleep, I have this image of your body under the rubble. It flashes into my mind and makes my heart sink. Then I pick up my phone and go to our photos.
I look at you carrying the watermelon on the beach and smiling, in hopes it will wipe out the cruel image of your cold body buried under the rubble. But my chest is so tight. I am angry. I want to get on top of this world and scream loudly — loud enough for the whole world to hear me. I want to burst their ears. My scream would echo pain and draw a rainbow of blood.
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