to crave and to give in.

I walk slowly, like one who comes from so far away he doesnt expect to arrive.
-Jorge Luis Borges.

I hope you stay forever young. I am too young to be in so much pain all the time, everywhere, in every dimension, in every turn my feet walk when I walk from home to class. I am to young to wake up every morning acutely aware of how my body fills up mattress's with such ease, with such wholeness. I am too young to start the day by wondering what to wear, what in this closet that holds an image of an eighty year old in a retired home should I use to cover myself, to appear the least obscene, to hide to an extent that the largest person in the room is wearing black from head to toe, everyday. Even her eyes you think, even her eyes in circled in black.

The sixth alarm of the morning goes off and you look to see your roommate still blissfully asleep, eventhough you have already put on the music and blasted the hairdryer. You call her name, over and over and she finally moves- a little. Im changing you tell her and she says okay and you either way go and hide behind the closet- lest someone see's lest that girl with her 120 pound frame and dancers frame manages to catch a glimpse.

If anyone who understood Urdu looked at the margins of the notes I take in class and were to read what I wrote hidden behind another language they would know all of my greatest fears.

One day, I will be beautiful.

That day is not today nor tomorrow and I will forever live a life of obscure insecurity until one day, one day- I will be beautiful.