If This Isn’t Love
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If this isn’t love, then why do we hurt each other and care so deeply at the same time? Why does our closeness feel dangerous, and our distance unbearable?
If this isn’t love,
why do my eyes burn when he’s hurting,
as if his pain found a home inside me?
Why do I miss him loudly
on the days he is far away
yet the moment we are close,
we argue like two people
who care too much
and don’t know where to put it?
If this isn’t love,
why does he check on me in quiet ways,
doing things that cost him comfort,
time, even money,
then shrug it off and say,
“I’m just being nice.”
Why does he distance himself
the moment my heart leans toward him,
as if kindness is allowed,
but feeling is too dangerous?
And why do I pretend not to see
the softness in his eyes,
because admitting it
might break the little friendship
we are both terrified to lose?
If this isn’t love,
then what do you call two people
who care in secret,
hurt in silence,
and pull back just when everything
almost becomes real?
What do you call two hearts
that move around each other
like eclipses
close enough to turn the world dark,
yet never brave enough to touch?
What do you call two hearts
that beat toward each other
but step away at the same time,
because the truth might cost
the one thing holding them together?
If this isn’t love,
then why does it feel
like we are always one breath away
from saying everything
and one fear away
from saying nothing at all?
_Halima Abu