Deserted

Women are your fields. Plow into them as you like. Is this your mantra? Am I mistaken? I blame myself as much as I blame you. When you said you were sorry, I knew the meaning behind your apology. You’re sorry for leading me on. You’re sorry for fetishizing me. You’re sorry for all the empty promises. But what about me? Where did I go in losing myself to be your fantasy? A fantasy. I remember that’s what you called me. You told me I was a fantasy because I'm the darkest person you’re talking to. That doesn’t sound real or right. So I was the darkest one, not the only one. What makes color a fantasy? Am I not real to you anymore? Maybe I never was. I was warned of the sexual exploitation and exoticism bestowed upon me by society. I thought you were different. I thought you loving me would potentially eradicate stereotypes and break down the walls of bias. But no. I am one of many with the same story.

What happened to the plans of us driving in Bahrain and looking at the stars under the night sky? What happened to us meeting in Al Khobar? What happened to the promised vacations in Dubai? Was it all a lie? Suddenly you have nothing to say. I know why. Our last conversations were like knives of reality piercing through my heart.

In my mind you were everything to me. I met you when I was broken and sad. Do you deserve to see me when I’m brave and successful? No. I wasted all my 20s on love. I tried to find love, find your love, be good enough for love. All for what? Now I realize I spent so much time trying to be acceptable, exceptional, and good enough, that I failed to accomplish the goals of the woman staring back at me in the mirror. I gave you too much credit. I gave you too much responsibility. You owe me nothing. It would’ve been fair enough for you to tell the truth.

Years ago you told me something that stuck with me. “I want you, but I can’t have you. Love is taboo.” You then mentioned that your father knew who I was and that he had eyes everywhere, whatever that meant. If I’m not aesthetically fitting for your world, just say it. I can see it in your eyes. You just don’t want to hurt my feelings. You’d think after 10 years it’d be easier to say. You’d also think after 10 years I would’ve learned my lesson. I know why you’re silent. It’s time for you to choose. You say you don’t want us to fall in love and there be no future. You won’t dare to clarify why there won’t be a future. You don’t have to say it. I know. You’re not doing anything devious. You’re following the rules that have been set in stone for centuries. How can I be surprised that a man wants to save face and gain family honor? How can I forgive you for keeping me a secret? How can I forgive myself for not feeling worthy of more? I cried for three days after you told me you were getting an arranged marriage. You were just passing the time with me. I do believe we cared for one another to some capacity. I do believe you were trying to protect me from the harsh reality. You warned me several times. I didn’t listen. What else is there to say?

Engulfed in the desert’s parched silence, I was nothing but another grain of sand in the wind.