They say love is a good thing. That without love people will know not peace. That without love kindness may never be conceived. That without love, thick veils of dullness will never lift off colors.  But is there such a thing as loving something too much? Can you be enslaved to your lovers dos and don’ts, wishes and demands, troughs and crests, becoming the sacrificed soldier in their chess set, winning the battle for them, yes, where you should be end no end celebrating the triumphs of the win, your win, his win, the win, but how can that be if the win is only to be won with a bloody festival of your own against your own, with your throat sliced open and your airways tightening and tightening, till it can tighten no more.. no more.

They say love is a good thing.

I loved him. I remember when I first met him, it was during a small friends’ gathering, where the lights were dim and the voices hushed and shushed. I was shocked to know my friends have known him for some time now; he was quite the popular kind in my city, the kind you hear and tell stories and tales about, some happy endings, but mostly catastrophes. I held back, I ignored him, I pretended to be on my phone, I looked at the ceiling pretending it was the skies, and I counted imagined but well-visualized stars. I connected them into shapes and forms, letters and words, this and that; I never let my gaze drop to them. Yes, in all worlds, ours and his, it was disgusting what they were doing: injecting yourself with things as such- him.  And yet this was the foolish face of youth in my city, where oppressions and suppressions have dampened and slayed countless spirits. This, in this room, with the imaginary skies and the beautiful stars and the discarded needles and the funny smells, and the highs and lows of human voices is where every prospect of bleak futures, every black-and-white day, and every dictated road is forgotten and lost. It is where breathing in doesn’t feel like chocking on your own words, on your sighs and tries; as though it was never your place to breath in, no, now breathe them out again. Reason and reasons, before and after each other like beads on a masbaha came to countless young minds to do a thing as such, and yet, I held back… I ignored him… until ignore him I could no more.

They say love is a good thing.

That’s all it took, one meeting, one room, one try…… ooh, the first time.. it felt like…happiness, like I’ll never have to worry about anything no more, like scrubbing your mother’s feet with sands of gold, like passing a course you were sure to fail, like revenge on every wrong, but sweet forgiveness too, like going back in time and undoing a huge mistake you regret, like the peace this world will never know.. life at its best. I couldn’t believe how he made me feel that day, I looked at my peers and my friends, I smiled in awe with a light head, I spun and twirled and danced and sat, it was real; this feeling was real. I was in love. Deeply in love.  And then, dawn broke and I woke.. but the world was same old, same old. Only after what I have seen and felt, the simple act of survival was no joke. Heavier than ever the burdens of being alive were; the litters on the streets made my teeth clench, the unclean air made my lips lock in a frown, the abusers abusing the abused made my muscles tense; ready for flight, ready for fight. More than ever I felt surrounded by monsters- beings eating thin air- with the flies it carries, with the scents of life all the same. I didn’t want to be here no more. Breath after breath, I got more on edge, I got more agitated and lonely, my body itched with burden stacked messily upon burden…I kept thinking I want to see him again, one more time, just once more, I wanted to wash away all the residues of this evil life and restart fresh again, only one more time, I wanted to feel that good again, and after it I’ll be strong enough to deal with all this. I was too in love.

And they still say love is a good thing.

Oh, how I craved for him, day after night after day; we got closer a needle at a time, he became in the rise and fall of my chest, in my arteries, in my veins, he was my world, a safe world; where I was wanted and cared for, a place I was welcome in, I felt for the first time in my life, that everything I am, with my hits and misses, my good and my bad was enough. I kept trying to get the same high as the 1st time, but it didn’t work: my doses increased, my cravings intensified and then I had to wake up one day admitting the sad, sad realization that yes, I am an Addict now.  What was addiction like, you ask? Addiction is missing my mother’s birthday because I was high. Addiction is knowing it’s 10 am because my tongue is tingling again. Addiction is calling in sick because I was up until 6 AM getting high, sleeping until noon, and waking up and getting high again. Addiction is a thousand little skills I wish I didn’t have. Addiction is gaining 40 kgs because I just wasn’t paying any attention. Addiction is like this. Addiction is like this. Addiction is like this: the same thing repeated over and over until it drowns out everything else.

So, why do they say love is a good thing?


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