I sat on my couch, 3 a.m. having random chats with my flatmates with arabic music in the background, the light sounds of oriental violin and darbouka, the smell of double apple smoke, a residue of the Oud incense still in the air and the street lights outside, a nostalgia of him came back.
I met him when I was really young. And as we both grew up, everytime I would meet him, as if Im meeting him for the first time. My best friend, and familiar stranger. As if we met but knew we saw each other before, each time, in a different version.
I loved him.
His features were different. I could always say he was middle eastern but yet somehow as if he came from another land. As if he was there but not there. Both this and that.
I loved him.
He was tough, yet easy going, very generous, kind and humble. From the outside, he seemed old and mature, with all his seeming wisdom, but I knew he was just a little boy who wanted to play.
I still, loved him..
He was violent many times, and at times, he would fall down and collapse infront of my eyes.
But still.. I loved him.
He was vivid and wild, adventerous, always something new, with him, I could never plan things out. Each time, he was surprising me, and somehow, his unpredictability became so predictable. And the only constant between us, was that he was my variable.
I loved him, a little bit more.
He was so intriguing with his complex simplicity.
He held me when I cried, held me when I fell, held me when I succeeded, pushed me to grow. He was there, watching me grow into someone new, every step of the way, he was always there. With his blue eyes, green shirt, and dark blue pants, he would sit there beautifully, sometimes not even saying a word, but telling it all.
He contained me, and made me who I am.
I loved him.
I adored him.
I still do, and will always continue to, my purple man, my lovely bundle of chaos.
His name was Lebanon…
Leaving you with a picture of his beauty