I miss you.
I miss you every time I turned on the stove to cook for my favorite dinner. I miss you when I stumbled on Sergey Lazarev’s songs in Google. I miss you when I see people speaking Russian along the subway. I miss you when I started pouring out the last dregs of a bottle of wine on a shot glass you bought for me when we were in Armenia.
I miss you.
I miss you when I’m passing by at a Turkish Restaurant where we used to eat spicy shawarma and my favorite salad. I miss the first time you handed me a cup of Turkish coffee that you yourself prepared and I remembered how I swallowed it down in one gulp and that lopsided smile you gave me was melting my heart. You were so lovely with that crooked smile, My Darling.
I miss you.
I miss how you made me laugh and for a minute I forgot how to cry over Nizar Qabbani’s life story. I miss you while slicing up a chocolate cake for a dessert. I miss your hand on my hair, your lips on my hand while driving your car, your dirty pants off on the floor and those bottles of Corona in your refrigerator during weekend.
I still wish of us together in the Paloma Bar and the Bullfrog cocktail has been there with us all the way and always help the night blur and get like legless frog.
Once in a while, I still listen to the Russian songs you did burn for me. I still see you every time I see Antonio Banderas’ hair in the Assassin movie.
But, even how the hell I miss you, I don’t think of going home to you again. You’re not my home anymore. I’m not going to stand on your way or chasing pavements. I don’t want to see my mobile popping up your name on its screen. I don’t want to read those overused and abused “I love you” on my mobile’s screen because I realized that it was never used correctly. Please don’t let me see you again. I no longer feel home in you and I don’t feel the word forever in it anymore.
And you know what? I’m sick and tired of seeing her lipstick mark off along the rim of your coffee mug at home. I hate seeing her Samsung charger that was forgotten on top of your table in the kitchen. Of course, yours is an Apple phone. I hate seeing the traces she’s leaving on your bed, her things you hid under your things in the drawer and that hickey she always gives on your neck. I’m so tired seeing you talk to her while I’m sitting next to you. I hate her photos taken at every corner in your house. I hate seeing that smile on your face while chatting with her. I’m sick and tired of crying on my couch every night for breaking my heart so bad.
Remember when I had the key to your flat? I used to slip through the crack of the door like a ghost and suddenly sitting down to the edge of your bed. I stopped doing that and I hope you know. I don’t want your body will touch mine again because I know that your heart and your mind are with her. I have learned waking up in the cold morning of knowing you’re not really there next to me.
They said there is always a beautiful world out there and it’s a wonderful feeling to see it with the one you love. Yes, there is a beautiful world out there but none of it will be the same when I see it with the one who truly loves me and it won’t be you.
I’m not anymore the woman who is easy to love. I have stopped loving you either. We can’t be friends so don’t come back to me anymore. My soul is not yours. The beautiful world we’ve been dreaming of to be a better place to live is no longer for us.