Dear friend. I'm wearing the wrong mouth. That is one of the most precise descriptions of being misunderstood I have ever read. Six words and it is complete. And then the contrast. With you, the sentences keep opening more rooms. The form doing the work of the meaning, the lines breaking and wandering and doubling back, a door inside a door inside a, and you let it trail off exactly the way a real thought does mid-flight with someone who already knows where you are going.
The parenthesis that never apologizes for the sound. That is what it feels like to be truly heard. Not managed, not redirected. Just caught. You catch every drop. Such a quiet ending for such an alive poem. MashaAllāh, my friend. This one is exceptional. 😊🥰❤️🫶🏻✨️🌹🔥
To be read by you is to feel truly seen. Your ability to walk through those open rooms and understand the exact architecture of what I was trying to build means more to me than I can adequately say.
You zeroed right in on "wearing the wrong mouth"—it is such a quiet, isolating feeling to carry, and knowing it resonated with you brings a profound sense of comfort. It takes a true poet's heart to appreciate the deliberate trailing off, the wandering lines, and the unapologetic sounds. You didn't just read the words; you felt the spaces between them.
"You catch every drop."
I could say the exact same of you as a reader, a writer, and a friend. Thank you for holding this piece so gently and for leaving such a generous, beautiful reflection. Alhamdulillah for your continued warmth, understanding, and support.😊🥰❤️🫶🏻✨️🌹🔥
My pleasure, my dear friend. Alhamdulillah for your words and for the trust you place in me each time you share your work. What you said, that I feel the spaces between the words, that is the highest thing a reader can be told. Because that is where the real poem lives. Not in what is said but in what is left open, deliberately, for the right person to step into. You build rooms worth entering.. Every single time. MashaAllāh on you, always. 😊🥰❤️🫶🏻✨️🌹🔥
Dear friend. I'm wearing the wrong mouth. That is one of the most precise descriptions of being misunderstood I have ever read. Six words and it is complete. And then the contrast. With you, the sentences keep opening more rooms. The form doing the work of the meaning, the lines breaking and wandering and doubling back, a door inside a door inside a, and you let it trail off exactly the way a real thought does mid-flight with someone who already knows where you are going.
The parenthesis that never apologizes for the sound. That is what it feels like to be truly heard. Not managed, not redirected. Just caught. You catch every drop. Such a quiet ending for such an alive poem. MashaAllāh, my friend. This one is exceptional. 😊🥰❤️🫶🏻✨️🌹🔥
Dear Saira,
To be read by you is to feel truly seen. Your ability to walk through those open rooms and understand the exact architecture of what I was trying to build means more to me than I can adequately say.
You zeroed right in on "wearing the wrong mouth"—it is such a quiet, isolating feeling to carry, and knowing it resonated with you brings a profound sense of comfort. It takes a true poet's heart to appreciate the deliberate trailing off, the wandering lines, and the unapologetic sounds. You didn't just read the words; you felt the spaces between them.
"You catch every drop."
I could say the exact same of you as a reader, a writer, and a friend. Thank you for holding this piece so gently and for leaving such a generous, beautiful reflection. Alhamdulillah for your continued warmth, understanding, and support.😊🥰❤️🫶🏻✨️🌹🔥
My pleasure, my dear friend. Alhamdulillah for your words and for the trust you place in me each time you share your work. What you said, that I feel the spaces between the words, that is the highest thing a reader can be told. Because that is where the real poem lives. Not in what is said but in what is left open, deliberately, for the right person to step into. You build rooms worth entering.. Every single time. MashaAllāh on you, always. 😊🥰❤️🫶🏻✨️🌹🔥