A Story Doesn't Exist Unless It's Told.

I want to hold your hand on a cold night, and wake up to your face on a Saturday morning.

I want to travel that vast expanse of your mind and scare the evil spirits and bad thoughts away. I want to fall asleep to the pure sound of your heartbeat and taste the tantalizing feel of your skin.

I want to wrap my arms tight around you and never let go. I want to fall asleep to the sound of your voice and wake up to the beauty of your smile.

I want to kiss you from head to toe and drown in your carefree laugh. I want you, in your entirety, and I want to love you endlessly.

This is Palestine our Homeland.

As he was inside me, with his weight on top of me, he kissed me on my forehead softly again and again- in between kissing my lips hard and passionately, as he said 'You know what a kiss on the forehead means'.

I was silent.

I knew what it meant. It meant protection. Respect. It meant undying love. It meant I'm his, and his alone. It meant 'you're mine'. It meant I mean the world to him. I didn't need to answer his statement. He knew I knew what it meant. We understood each other in those sweet seconds as he stayed inside me.

And in that moment, I fell in love with him more than I already do...and he didn't even know it.

A story doesn't exist unless it's Told.

Free Palestine.

It's okay for others to misunderstand you and your intentions. it is inevitable actually.

A story doesn't exist unless it's Told.

‎“Everything (that happens) is by way of al-Qadr, even when you place your hand upon your cheek.”

I pray for people with lonely souls.

I pray for the hungry and the cold.

I pray for little orphans without homes.

I pray for those who are shut-in and all alone.

I pray that tensions in the world will ease.

I pray that we will find everlasting peace.

#Abdullah #AbdullahBook

If depression has a color it wouldn't black. It would be dull muted gray.

Black makes a statement.

It's solid, not allowing any light in. It's bold. It's loud. It's in your face. It's like the infinite night sky. It's lovely sin in lace.

Muted gray isn't any of those things. It's dull. It's numb.

It's soft background white noise. It's pale and not blatantly seen.

It blends into the scenery without other people even noticing.

It still lets some light in. It's nothing. It says nothing. It's just there-existing. Lifeless and drained of all life, spirit, color, and the essence of who you are. You lose your identity. You lose your personality.

In depression, you lose everything that makes you-you.

You're muted gray. And that's okay. In time, you'll heal little by little, getting yourself out of the monotone darkness you know so well. You made a bed there. You're comfortable there. Safe. But don't stay there. Even though it feels like home. It's not. It's a big grey-black veil over your real self. Your soul. Once you start healing, you lift the veil up little by little....letting light in.

As months and years go by, you've healed in many little steps that add up to a huge change in you. You're still in depression, but nowhere near as deep as you were. You remember how you were back then, and you see how much you healed for the better.

You see you're not staring at walls or patterns on drapes, or blankly staring at the floor. You're not closed off, you're not as quiet, you're smiling more, laughing more, engaging more, doing more activities you used to love and enjoy, being more sociable, and overall just being the real YOU.

You see more of your old personality shining through. THAT'S when you see the difference in you. You're not 100% healed by any means. But you've made strides. More and more...seeing your old self there in the distance in the field.

Go get her. She needs you back.