seeking calm within the chaos
Sitting in my favorite coffee house,
where warmth wraps around me like a blanket—
my refuge when home becomes too heavy to hold.
Outside, winter bites. Inside, just two other girls and me,
seeking shelter from different storms.
Not anger that fills me, no—
but disappointment so deep it has its own gravity.
They say "don't expect," but that's not it.
I didn't. I don't.
I'm just tired.
Bone-deep, soul-deep tired,
and no one believes the weight of this exhaustion.
Every part of me aches with a pain
that has no name, no source, no cure.
I want to empty myself completely,
pour out every drop of hurt
until I'm clean again.
Is it possible?
The silence answers: probably not.
Even Rana, who hears the tremor in my voice,
can't translate the language of my pain.
I've tried before—my words becoming heliographs,
flashing signals she never quite catches.
She'll come over, promising presence,
but her condescension will turn my honesty
into something ugly, something shameful.
Am I truly so difficult to read,
or is the world just refusing to learn my alphabet?
I post online, crafting a mosaic of joy—
complete bullshit, but the comments,
oh, they feed something hungry in me.
A temporary high, a fleeting fix.
Guilty as charged.
Ahmed Ehab lingers like a shadow
even my brother won't help me chase away.
My eyes betray me,
leaking since yesterday,
and now "Basrah w Atooh" plays—
as if the universe wants to underscore my pain.
"What do you really want, Lou?"
Something within me whispers back:
"Stability... calm... and a thousand babies."
I smile.
Yes, that's it.
But for now, just calmness would be enough.
I crave wildness too,
but not as a constant state of being.
Being an outcast—is it curse or blessing?
The question hangs unanswered.
Acceptance comes in waves:
My brother won't change,
but I won't carry his weight anymore.
I am his little sister, nothing more.
His words may cut like spades,
but I'll match his sternness now,
protect my peace
like the precious thing it is.
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