I wrote this poem after my first month in Beirut. Still in love with that place.

 

I didn’t expect

to fall

so in love

with every

heavy moment,

every late night house party,

every boy

at every late night house party

who I stare at with Almaza eyes

thinking of the ways

he reminds me

of you

I didn’t expect

to feel

so wanted here

and here I go again

falling in love with those brown,

dirty children

who spend their time

at the corniche

trying to shine my

tennis shoes,

the hijabi girls

drinking beer

with their boyfriends,

the taxi drivers

who never stop

honking their horns

at red lights

I don’t know how

to explain this fullness

in the tiny space

a postcard provides,

but I’m not so sure

you want me to try

so here

for the last time

I’ll tell you

that the sea blends perfectly

into the sky

and the mountain snow

is just cold enough

to give me a brain freeze,

the bombs are quiet,

the streets are loud

I write to you because

even here

it’s all I know how to do