There’s a whisper in my ear, quiet, insistent words…
Stop wishing. Start doing.
“Meet me tomorrow morning,” I say. “At the beach.”
MATI
Meet me tomorrow morning. At the beach.
It is all I have wanted to do
since we hung up last night.
But I could not meet her because
this morning was Baba’s final scan.
I walk toward the ocean now,
after midday prayer,
while the sun is high in the sky.
I am a patchwork of emotions:
relieved and exhilarated,
anxious and heavyhearted.
My seams are stitched haphazardly,
and I am slowly unraveling.
My time with her has run out,
and I can hardly face the fact of it.
Cowardice urges me to retreat,
but my soul is a compass
whose needle points to her.
She is waiting by the surf,
long hair lashing in the wind.
She is radiant against the steely sky.
I will never love anyone the way I love her—
I know that now.
The trick is in reconciling my feelings,
with my future.
I call her name.
