At school, boys and girls were separated.
The boys would watch the girls going home,
And choose one to send a letter to.
Then they’d be together.

I’m 32 years old.
I’m divorced, and I don’t have any children.
When I turned 32, everyone pressured me into getting married.
I honestly wasn’t really looking forward to it.

I wasn’t prepared for that.
You were my first love,
My first dream.
For the first time ever,
I became a slave to my emotions.

You can’t go out alone. I have to be with you.
I have to be there even if you go out with your friends.

Every time I felt agonizing loneliness
Even when lying next to him.
Every time he promised me he’d be a reliable source of support, and he wasn’t.
Every time I told myself that I’m living this life alone
Even though I’ve got a man, supposedly.
romantic relationships, divorce, marriage

I was in the third grade and we took the same bus to school.
He was fair-skinned and had rosy cheeks.
He had thick, soft, jet black hair.
He had thick eyebrows and piercing eyes.
He was the class and bus clown.
He was that kid who joked around all the time.
I loved him.
romantic relationships, school

Aly was honest at the beginning of their relationship.
He told Farida not to expect him to settle down,
Or for them to be in a traditional relationship.
He was open-minded,
More so than any other man Farida had met.

"No, Hatem is such a girl. He's shy and doesn't like talking about asses and boobs and stuff like that!"

When you would try to touch me,
I felt like you couldn’t see me.
You could only see the body you were about to touch.

“The best thing about you is your tan,” he’d always tell me.
“What tan?” I’d laugh, “I am as dark as chocolate.”
“And I’m crazy about chocolate” he’d respond adoringly.