writing workshop with warsan

it’s just my nature, i ruin love. like dough it’s supposed to be light like pastry but i’ve overkneaded it and it won’t rise. touched it too much at crucial moments exposing it too early like a developing photograph, i leave fingerprints on it’s darkness. i’ve overshone on it’s light. i’m too green about it, they say. fresh energy that irritates and confuses. they think i’m a cartoon, unreal, they don’t believe my love. sometimes i don’t. maybe it’s the picture, the dream that i’m swooning over, the idea. mohammed, ishmael, noah all of them lead me to waters i over drank. i over watered our flowers, drowning our love til the roots rotted and the leaves yellowed and fell like petals but not on our bed, on the dirt on the dust, our memory faded before my eyes while i was still standing amidst it. i missed it before it even left. i longed for the tickling spices they fed me, the heat, the complexity, the flavours they brought me from afar. without love my life feels churned out. days upon days like a factory line. greys upon greys, i feel guilt for how i chased the colours away, how i turn the greens to pale yellows to greys upon days i am left missing and missing over again. there are pieces of my love i’ve neatly folded into a suitcase, neatly tucked away and locked with a strange combination as key. a riddle i dare you to attempt a guess. i dare anyone try to love this again. (why would you?)