I wondered
how a heart could flood,
carrying a longing
I cannot name—
a nostalgia for a soul
I wish I could hold.
I miss that soul:
careless,
intent on living,
not counting,
bearing no life upon her back—
a soul that steers her own course,
from her first shore
toward her last.
I long to breathe with nature
without harboring rebellious storms
begging to be tamed.
How weird it is
to grieve what was never lived,
until…
it settles into a quiet, persistent habit—
this ache to embrace a self
I am incapable of becoming.
Life didn’t stop slapping me,
and I have no clue
why everything seems so ungoverned,
and what I achieved in the end—
only that I am another one
beside the person
I long to be.
Anemoia By Marwa Moataz ALhallaq
Image courtesy of Marwa Moataz ALhallaq
7 November 2026
