Musafir part 2

Almost two months ago,
I jumped out of that plane, straight to poetry night. I wrote a comedy skit about you and I was eager to perform it to see how people would react. It was my first shot at stand up comedy, I wanted to make it memorable. I wanted to make people laugh, like you- make me laugh. for them to know what it was like, to be almost in love with the taken and still find joy.

you were the first guy I ever held onto when scared. and boy, I hate holding on to things. you were many firsts . the first one to say you would buy my t-shirts, to say that the whole world should know how talented I am, to say that you're honored I write about you.
I never imagined such sweetness existed, nevertheless that it could ever be tangible.

tu, cafe con leche y canela, raised amidst those white chunks of salt. with that dutch as clear as day. hablando de ser refugiado, knowing what is like to not know home. musafir, meaning guest in your native language, meaning you in mine.
just like you I had been looking for shelter too.
I escaped another type of war.

musafir. the first thing right after being so wrong. the first to ask permission to touch my hair. the first to ever say it just
wouldn't be fair. I don't pray in your tongue, but my tongue prays for you. I tell my girls where you come from and they say silly things. they tease me.
say I am too free to ever end up in your arms.

and I am, I am a woman of temporary obsessions. but
I must say that you're the best guest I have ever had over.
my honey colored dream. liking all my silliness, loving my otherness. saying no in the softest way.
bello. musafir.

the first right, after so much wrong. I would say your wife is the luckiest girl alive,
but I had the pleasure of meeting you too - so I'll claim that title.