In The Story Of My Other Life

 

When my Russian friend told me there were seven wonders of the world, I trusted the math.

Believed I had not seen none of them.

But of course beauty always haunted me, like this unique course no one really trusted as either a wonder or just nature. 

Then one day, in a poetry event somewhere in Diani, In a red velvet stage carpet in Diani. I watched my Violet walk on stage, seventeen slow steps to the mic. 

She took a breath before speaking. I could hear an angel being born in that breath. 

My whole body reached out like a hand pointing to the most amazing thing I've ever seen in this lifetime. I've never felt anything like that. Searched the name of the feeling on my dictionary once I reached home and their it was... goosebumps. 

In the story of my other life. 

I would sitting by the fire place hoping someone knocks at the door... for like... eternity 

When a knock finally comes, it would be death asking whether I'm ready yet. 

I'll starter..

I'll fail to look him in the eye...

I’ll confess that I kept the fire lit not for warmth, but for the illusion of company, the way flames pretend to listen when you talk to them.

I’ll tell him I practiced conversations with people who never came back, set an extra chair by the hearth just to feel less ridiculous about the hope.

I’ll confess that some nights I wished the knock would be anyone, a stranger, a mistake, even bad news, because silence is the only visitor that never leaves.

I’ll tell him the truth I hid from myself:

that I wasn’t afraid of dying…

I was afraid that nothing in my life had ever really noticed I was alive.

And when the words finally stop shaking out of me,

I’ll look up... not to beg, not to bargain, just to be seen by someone who can’t pretend I’m invisible anymore.

© amimoh_creatives