Aida Zabidi
It’s a grey morning. 

 It reminds me of your letters and the way you make me feel when I think of you. How is it that a few lines on paper can evoke such strong memories? Words have always had such a strong impact on my life, and your words keep running through my head like a haunting melody. 

I keep replaying our last night, that last night we spent together in our favourite spot. 

The look on your face. The hurt in your voice. The catch in mine. 

I wondered if I was making the right decision. 

“I wanted so much to fight for you.” 

I wanted to hold you close and cradle your head close so you could hear my heartbeat, and I could only hope that you could understand the erratic thumping of my heart. I’ve been such a selfish child this entire time, and the one moment that my mother expressed her preference, I felt like I owed her that much. 

Maybe I jumped too hard, too fast. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was self-sacrifice. 

But I think my heart spoke differently. 

It’s a grey morning. 

Like the dull beat of my heartbeat.
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