بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

there come those days where I'd choose the storm and instead I am chosen by the stillness, perhaps the more I've given up to Him, the less there is for me to carry, less for me to feel. being away from my beloved used to be so much worse, now it's simply a passing shudder, gone nearly in the blink of an eye. in theory, my most painful moments should be these (#wcs), but He's taken the pain from me. I don't know what occupies in its place, what this feeling is, if it in fact is an emotion at all. 

a thought occurred to me the other day, that of turning to Allah becoming just like breathing to me: easy and simple and essential and second-nature and vital to survival. it did not quite get formed like a dua, but I suppose that is what it became. 

I am sorry, oh love of mine, that I cannot feel, that I cannot give, that through this life yet we must live. if choice were mine, I'd bring dawn to your sky, turn water into wine, let words formulate wings, so we'd always be in flight. for now, for this second, while we're captured by life and its essence, those choices are on hold but never forgotten, for my memory will serve as template, for those palaces and Gardens we've yet to walk in. this dream is His to carry, mine to chase, forward by day one step, perhaps closer to it we've came. - iA