Cordial – Ola Yacoub
Selenophile
He who seeks the light; never asks. He who seeks belief; never frets. His phases appear, with every day’s aura.
The new moon. He appears; new. crisp. Happy features; imposturous personality. Stoned emotions. Euphoric scent. Ah; I remember it quite clearly. He sees her. Her looks; different from others. He feels wild. The buzz in his ears floods with hysteria.
The waxing crescent arrives. He feels excitement and joy. Nostalgic moments walking up the stairs into his brain of admirable memories he cannot quite forget. He feels complete; not really. He misses her touch. Her voice. Smile. The steady breathing on his chest when she falls asleep. He misses it.
The first quarter. He smiles. At her only. Her only presence. His smutty mind deafens his senses until he falls into a quick limbo then wakes up from it to realize he’d been staring for so long. He feels complete, kind of. He loves her hair. How she tucks it back when distracted. How she squints her eyes when she’s concentrating. He loves it.
The waxing gibbous slowly peels open. He’s excited. He’s wild; so, into the action. Her voice undresses every emotion he has left. She feels different. A good different. Maybe he met the one. Maybe. He feels complete; almost. He adores her talents. The beautifully poetic words escaping her vocal cords. Her angelic voice. He adores it.
The full moon unleashes. He wants her. All of her. There isn’t a second that passes that he doesn't think about her. Even accidentally. As if he’s almost being watched by her every second. He has to act perfectly. A careful kind of perfect. He feels complete; he loves her. All of her. He wants to spend all his time with her.
The waning gibbous. Breaks. Sudden; oh, so sudden. It's sad. He loves her; he swears on it. But not as much. He misses her touch; he does. But not as he did. He adores her talents; he does, I promise you. But something isn’t quite right with him.
The third quarter. Melancholy awake. Thinking of her. Not as he used to. All that worries his precious mind is her flaws. Why does she have to act like that? Why doesn’t she do what I ask? I only ask for enough. I want to feel enough in her eyes. It’s sad.
The waning crescent forcefully cracks. He feels numb. Hatred; not hate. He feels confused, scared. Upset; not sad. Disappointed but not surprised. He missed her. He adored her. He cannot keep his mind off of the thought that she left. Fast; very fast. He loved her.
The new moon appears once again. New; again. crisp. Happy features; imposturous personality. Numb emotions. No scent. Oh, I don't quite remember this. He sees her. Her looks; same as the last. He feels nothing. The buzz in his ears fill with traumatic nostalgia. He walks away.
Lost Chapters
Finding a letter, you never thought you’d find. Your heart squeezes with nostalgia; eyes betray each other as they crack with tears. Feeling every detail of your memory.
Scent of happy days; confused lips. Frowning your eyebrows. Your brain suddenly locks eyes with the lost memory. You feel yourself lift up from your seat.
As you live it again. The sky; sunnier than ever, cold wind. You look younger. Still fresh with love. April smiles at you holding a gift. Take it carefully, please.
April 12th
Ola Yacoub is a sixteen-year-old girl that has always been passionate about writing. She is currently in her senior year in high school. Ola has been writing short stories since she was seven until she discovered her love for poetry. She thinks it’s a fascinating way to describe how you feel by “coating your words with a little sugar” and forming it in a way where everyone would relate to it somehow.
