the tragic death of karma hamady

The newspapers were in frenzy “The tragic passing of Karma Hamady”; the headlines of every Beirut newspaper were covered with stories claiming to have found her corpse, but I knew that it was not her remains they had discovered. I know that for Karma death was not as simple as a mere carcass being left there to rot away.

I remembered the last night I saw her, the night seemed darker than usual, the moon hid behind ancient clouds and no stars were to be seen, this darkness was unlike other nights.

She was sitting at her favorite bar with her hoodie over her head, holding her favorite glass of wine in her right hand and a cigarette in her left, making paper cranes whenever she was able to put down her wine, she seemed serene but a unsettling mood surrounded her.

Only she could know of her fate, this had been planned long before any of us could call Karma a friend, it was written in her soul and placed in her heart.

When asked if she needed anything, all she would say in a quiet tone “That’s all she ever thinks about, riding with the wind”, from her voice you could tell that she was hiding her broken heart, she had no more tears left to show her ache. She would smile but it never lasted long enough, there was an obvious tension in her eyes, as if she was hiding one last goodbye.

It was a quarter to midnight when she put out her last cigarette of the evening, before walking out the door of her precious cabin, as if to bid farewell, she placed her hand on the door one last time and with a smile she looked back only once as if to capture a moment she would never forget.

When asked where she was going she answered with such innocence "to watch the stars" and as a final tear rolled down her face, the sky screamed and in all its viciousness the wind blew as hard as it could, it ripped through the windows, shattered bottles, threw people to the ground, and in an instant she was gone.

The stars shone brighter than they ever had afterwards.

Karma did not die of natural causes nor did she die by her own hands, nobody will ever really know what happened that night, but I know that this is how she had wanted to go, far into the skies, sitting at her favorite bar, drinking her favorite wine, and looking down on the world as she rides with the wind on the back of a unicorn.

the heart of a man

In the garden where he walked miles from me, I could see his heart stop; it was his way of analyzing his thoughts. Between the trees he found a piece of paper and on it he wrote "every day stays the same".

He recognized me by the sound of my tears hitting the fallen leaves.

As I ran into hiding, he followed me and went down on his knees as I hid my face in shame of being found.

He ran his fingers through my dyed out hair and in my moment of collapse, with a smile across his face, he whispered very gently into my ear "oh love of mine some day you will die".

in between days

The harder I look the more I realize that what is right in front me is just a noticeable circumstance.

I am trying very hard to go through everyday without searching for anything more than what is obvious, without having to cause myself a headache over thinking every little detail that runs through my brain.

I think in the deepest depths of my broken soul I would find something I may not be ready to find.

And for the first time in a long time I was given a hug (in the bathroom of a bar of all places) that felt sincere enough that it clicked in my brain and reminded me when I used to accidentally bump into strangers to remember what it meant to feel something.

she's not selling any alibi's

Under his fingertips I built a pedestal only to watch it collapse; he held my hand and took us outside to run as fast as we could to collect our cancer dues. And on my loneliest night I remembered the bleak moments when I most welcomed his dimming divide.

If I was a few numbers under maybe I would suffer less guilt.

I find myself tied between my dream of choking on panadol, and being shot down by Jesus in a suit.

I would like to have the right to wake up on a different side of life, to walk into a person's head and move things around.

Pick up the pieces of a troubled mind and put them in my own order.

And yet another day will go by with only a fragment of meaning to it.

hold on to yourself

I walked in the rain and the rain hit me with its thundering roar when the raindrops hit my face.

She’s drinking her heart in and throwing it back out on the bathroom floor, she’s Ada in every excessive way.

I look in the streets filled with limitless stomps of feet looking for you but all I found was me stuck in between the traffic lights.

She’s a book you would never read; she’s Ada in all the juvenile ways.

I swam across the lake in the hopes of finding something greater than yesterday...and all I could find was the soul of a dying man. I don’t even know how to swim.

She can hear the sounds through the walls; she’s Ada in all theatrical ways.

I had names missing up in the air through the flying daggers that carved them into the earth.

She’s a story with no words; she’s Ada in all the mistaken ways.

*inspired by The National - Ada*

a conversation in a bar

Last night a conversation in a bar led to the decision to start a blog, I cannot remember how many times I have done this but it has to be a good idea.

This same conversation at this same bar on the same night led to many other conclusions, including the most important one, there is nothing wrong with me, I am perfectly set and if I have flaws, so be it, they are a part of me right? and I used to once accept all my human disorders, I don't know what happened for me to forget that those flaws are what make nothing wrong with me.

I will be fine, I am fine, it is only temporary, the heart can always heal itself, it is all in my head...I'll drink to that.