[previously titled 'Aurelian']
Am I even real?
Chest weighing heavy,
Limbs going numb
There's a pressure in my head
I wonder if I even exist.
Tears push against my eyes.
Heart empty.
Ringing in my ears.
I'm flesh and bone.
So far removed,
The trag...
Dedications: For that boy who told he was being a baby, For that boy who got hurt and couldn't express his pain properly, For that boy who is kept awake at night because the pain in his heart is too much, For that boy with tears stinging his eye- hating himself for being weak, For that boy who just wants someone to understand.
YOU ARE HUMAN, YOU BREAK AND IT'S OKAY TO CRY!
________________________
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Yusha sits at the edge of his window with his head tilted towards the night sky. He's here alone with himself, anxious, tired and terrified. Yet, in some way he also feels calm and collected- as if his heart beats in sync with the serenity of the skies, moved in the darkness by the invisible splendor of Allah Almighty. In such moments, when the wind swirls through the air as the luminous moon gleams and the white twinkling stars give harmony to the black, blue sky and you see how they roar with light, that Yusha remembers why he gravitates toward the night. For the night is more richly coloured and alive than the day.
Yusha is broken out of his reverie by a shrill ring. He lets out a heavy sigh, then pushes himself to his feet and quickly switches off his alarm. He wonders why he even bothers to set one when he knows that he won't need it.
Oh, the perks of being an insomniac.
Slipping on his flip flops, he ambles to the bathroom adjoined to his room. He steps in with his left foot and then his right as per the sunnah.
He mentally recites the dua before wudhu- being conscious not to move his lips or tongue- then proceeds to open the tap and begins performing ablution. As he steps out of the bathroom he recites the dua after wudhu.
Keeping on his sweatpants and muscle tee, he tugs off his old high school hoody and neatly places it on his still perfectly made bed.
He saunters to his cupboard and tugs a black kurta off a hanger and snatches a pair of socks from the drawer.
Closing the closet doors, he pulls on the kurta over his head. He bends down to loosen the knots on the laces of his beat up tekkies, then takes a seat on the edge of his queen-sized bed and steps into his shoes.
Once both his shoelaces are tied tightly, he puts his hands on his knees and pushes himself to his feet. He swipes his topi off his old wooden desk and places it on his head.
He shuffles his way towards the bedroom door and steps into the hallway, absentmindedly shutting the door behind him with a silent click, then lumbers downstairs.
