Your Name

Stomach tingles, Heart beats race, and that feverish breeze sweeps through me. That’s what happens whenever my eyes meet her name on my mobile.

But I don’t reply ...

May be because I have so much to say. May be because I have nothing to say. Or may be both. May be because she knows it all. May be because she knows nothing of it. Or may be both.

May be because I don’t want to have the wrong tone to what she feels at the moment. Afraid to be too practical to ask about her health, too trivial to ask about her family, too down-to-earth to ask where she is, too daring to tell her how much I miss her, or too dull to just say my typical “Rabena yekhaleeky.”

May be because I want to extend this blissful feeling I have after I receive a note from her; too reluctant to replace it by that stomach burn in anticipation to her reply.

It is my companion, my peace and joy. My heart leaps up whenever I see or hear it. Takes me to that sweet smile and these precious tears. Gives me the whole mix of familiar inexplicable feelings that comforts and agonizes me; that keeps me up at night in defiance to nature and need.