Again

by J.L. Seegars

I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to be ignored by someone, but that’s what Amina does to me. She makes everything—even the most mundane or insulting thing—feel like a gift.

The idea of any part of us being resigned to the past, deemed an insignificant relic of an era that has been forgotten, makes my entire being ache. Amina could never be my past.

“I don’t give a fuck about those papers. Everything I have is yours, and it always will be because I wouldn’t have any of it if it wasn’t for you.”

I wish I could climb underneath her skin. Burrow into her heart, make her soul my home.

I used to think she was a blessing—a gift from God to an undeserving man—but I was wrong. She isn’t a blessing, some small thing held up to prove the existence of a higher power and keep you beholden to it. She is the reason blessings exist. They are born in her eyes and fueled by the blood in her veins. They are forged in her name and written by her hand. She is my religion. Her body is my place of worship, and I will spend the rest of my life at her altar.