sketching a full heart

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monotony does not lie in watching the same sunset everyday. it’s watching the same sunset everyday and not thinking of it any differently. 

noor is 17. she spends a lot of her days dreaming of curtains that aren’t brown and tea that isn’t without sugar. she has cupboards made out of cardboards and doors made out of glass. the paint on her walls has worn out over the years. she spends her evenings hiding behind the water tank on her rooftop, a pencil in one hand and a stone in the other. she sketches different patterns of the stone in her diary, one each day. one winter evening she says to me, “I sketch what I cannot understand.” the day after that, she draws a sketch of me. I turn the pages of her diary to see different shades of the sunset and different heights of her shadows, all taller than her. there is poetry too. two lines on one page and then seven pages left blank. she says that’s how she feels most of the time. there are chords of a song she’s been learning ever since she was 15. she’s written the same chord 21 times. she says she gets stuck while playing. it reminds her of days she spent in silence wishing for music. now she dreams of that kind of silence. If I knew how to sketch, I’d sketch her. three sixty five times in a year. three sixty six on some years. I’d still never get it right. so I’d sketch a full heartbeat and write her name under it in 27 different languages, hoping she’ll decide to breathe a little more, even on days the sun doesn’t shine as bright.

_sketching a full heart
(to noor, part I) 


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