Loving Strangers

Author by kendiuntamedPosted in Inspirational

I bought your perfume today, the one you wore when we first met by the pool and every day after that. A smell that reminds me of your gentle hands and how they rubbed against mine when you pulled me to the bridge that night, So I could see the Nile the way you saw it.

We were overlooking Gadaffi’s egg and all its glory. Bound by a love that could never be, but a chemistry that could not be contested. You joked about emotions and how you thought they were overrated, but the whole time I wished you could feel my heart beating, then maybe you would understand.

It’s not the way you opened the door for me, or let me borrow your jacket when the wind came sweeping, but the way you talked about your people, something about the air that night. The skies seemed clearer than standard. I watched you walk as you went to get me hot chocolate, then watched you walk back with impeccable swagger and nothing but a smile on and said in the sexiest Arabic accent ever, “Habibty, they don’t have hot chocolate, you see what I make.”

The day you picked me up to go to the Island, I remember how eager you were to go there. Like a child on a sugar high haha. I barely had time to put on my make up. Yet I didn’t know what you would think of me, in sandals. But I dared to be. I was sad that that was the last day I would see you. I lifted my lipstick out of the bag but before it could touch my lips, you leaned in and planted a kiss on my cheek saying, “you don’t need it.”

How could a man like you not love? I wondered out loud. Unable to contain my amusement. I think I fell in love that night.

I fell in love with a stranger.

Published by kendiuntamed

Kendi is a lover of life. Down to earth, inspired by love and all things life. For those of you who have been asking whether these articles are based on true stories, well here's the scoop. A little bird once told me that to be an artist is to be vulnerable. For a dancer, the technique is nothing if it doesn't reveal some personal truth. The same goes for the artist whose greatness comes when he can take something organized and make it feel like it was improvised. The artist is a receptacle for emotions that come from all over the place: from the sky, from the earth, from a scrap of paper, from a passing shape or from a spiders web. Consequently I write from a place of love,joy, peace, honesty, conceit, defeat, betrayal, loyalty, security, confusion, fear, victories, everything that man is capable of feeling in one life time. So yes most of my articles if not all, are inspired by true stories (not necessarily personal I must add). Albeit 30% factual and 70% fictitious, my goal has always been to entertain since poetic writing is a part of me as is music. All this to say, I hope you feel something when you read my work. I hope it helps you disconnect from the world a little and I hope at the very least, it makes you feel alive.

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