We have grown together
these past couple of months,
 
maybe not in size,
but certainly, with burdens.
 
We have grown fuller,
our arms holding too much
 
weight, heads thicker,
fogged by atrocities.
 
But I think they makes us look brighter.
A new feeling dawns on me:
 
summer is over. I know you
want to shed your old life
 
and start anew.
But our prophecy stated
 
that we were both bound
here, to serve a life of giving
 
others, never taking.
The reason I write you, my friend,
 
is to tell you that I’ve decided to leave.
It is true that we were once shackled by reality,
 
but I can crawl out of here if I want to.
I will abandon these roots if I have to,
 
I can no longer bear the indecisive
weather, nor people.
 
I have outgrown this place, and my friend,
you have, too.
 
You hold yourself differently.
This year, you will shed
 
your burdens and sadness.
But by this time next year,
 
you will shed the memory
of me here,
 
of you and me listening to Feyruz
in the morning while I drink my coffee.
 
And you will find a new friend
who will share this serenity with you.
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