You don't know what it's like to be me looking at us.

I see us.

From the backs of the rounds that control my vision, an image reflects off the optical mirrors that Allah placed inside my sockets: It's you and me; it's an illusion of an allusion.

We're in a fantastic place. We're alone--save a boulder that supports my back and the hawa that holds you up with the palm of her hand.

This is our place--this is the only place where our lost love is able to be found. No demons or thieves can steal it from here. You are mine again, and mine alone. I am yours here, but I've always been everywhere else too.

It's you and me and the boulder and hawa. And it's hawa--amorous and organic and musical.

I feel every note of it in the pads of each of your fingertips as they caress my cheek--it soothes and burns all at once. You radiate your freedom to me here, a freedom that you have denied and kept from me for these past years. My face flushes and new freckles form from your glow.

You smile. My soul gasps for breath, grabbing that life.

I knew it! I've known it! I've always felt that it was still there, in the depths of your soul; scorched into the crevices of this boulder. This faith-rock holds me up to face you, and does not allow me to forget and let go.

My heart has seen your face like this every third minute of every day that I have lived in a state of awareness and wariness of love.

And it is wretched how much I love. It's a pain that I wish I didn't earn from you.

But in this illusion of an allusion--I see that you've earned it from me too.

I don't want us to leave this fantastic place. So I tear, and, thus, tear the illusion of you and me and the boulder and the hawa into my pupils. And I relinquish the rest of me to a life with closed lids so this can never be interrupted by another sight.

I see us--and I will never see anything else again.