"Women love it when I figure them out but they never figure me out." He said
"Do you want them to figure you out?" I replied
"Why don't you want to figure me out, Marwa?" He asked
"Because if I figure you out, I will not want you anymore" I bluntly said
"I portrayed you … did my words hurt?" He exclaimed
"The truth does not hurt me .. lies do." I said
"What is your perception of me?" He asked
"I will write it, post it, and let you read it." With those words we concluded the discussion and went our separate ways.
I cannot think of him in words; I only think of him in visuals. He is a carpet. Not because I, or anyone else, can step allover him, but because people trip on its not so visible creases when they are not looking; when they are not knowing; when they are not suspecting; when they are not expecting. Only to land on their backs, knees, and faces with more severe injuries than a fist-fight in the street. He does not leave bruises or scars behind; he leaves broken bones and fractures that hurt and might never heal.
He is cursed, but who isn't? He is cursed because he is smart. He is smart in knowing what people are thinking and how they are feeling, but his brains are his worst enemy; he only gets attracted to people who do not want to figure him out; be it laziness, stupidity, lack of interest, or fickleness.
He has another curse. In my shallow eyes, the gift of his sharp wits and wild soul are trapped in an unattractive package of fat and flab. He reminds me of what I could have been and what I worked so hard to overcome. I look at him and I see the "me" that I escaped. "My eyes deceive me", I told him yesterday. "I get facts and knowledge via my senses, this is why I would rather trust my feelings – they never deceive me."
I wish I were not as shallow. I wish looks did not score so high on my scales.
"Don't hurt me" He said
"Don't get attached to me .. I never stay" I told him
"I know" – He always knows.
