الصفحة الرئيسية
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BOUKILI ABDLGANIE KHOURIBGA
I recall the exact moment I realized I loved him. There were no butterflies in my stomach and I didn't conflict over how to tell him. Love, to me, is not a Shakespeare sonnet. I never talk about belonging to him, or giving him a piece of my heart and soul. Instead, he and I stand silently, staring at each other like two soldiers about to go into an unwinnable war. Darien's gaze is always uncanny, impenetrable, and I never quite know if what he's going to say is cynical or teasing. There's also something dark and smoldering in his eyes, almost violent. But if I asked, he'd just tell me I was seeing things.
I felt a sense of dawning wonder and grief when I realized how I much I cared about him. Love is my asphyxiate. It is complicated and brutal. It happens without warning and makes my chest feel heavy and constricted. I understand that men like Darien aren't meant to be tamed. His purpose is to remain wild, uninhibited. Perhaps love with him is best left evanescent and fleeting, yet undeniably precious.
“Don't say anything,” Darien all but growls.
I shudder at his tone, wondering if my expression has given me away. Love is something I don't want to admit aloud. I'm too unstable and my life is too inconsistent. There are instances where love isn't all healing, when it is unsafe and the idea of it conquering anything is a lie.
“I won't,” I promise.
He looks almost hesitant as he steps away from me. “Then you'll run.”
In an uncertain, volatile world, admitting to love is far too dangerous and telling someone to run is the best way of informing them that they are cherished. Sometimes, love is destructive and declaring it aloud is just another way to hurt someone. In the world Darien and I live in, saying “I love you” is just another way to die.
