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Take me home
Heartbreak like this makes me yearn for comforts I never even had
The urge to bask in my motherland’s South Asian sunshine and feel warm rainwater splashing down my back
Elders calling me their child in Urdu, sending me to sleep with Indian head massages laced with coconut oil
Bare feet, long braids, eating food on the floor with my hands
Heartbreak that makes me want to start again in my mother’s footsteps because starting afresh in my own shoes won’t be enough to make me forget
Heartbreak that makes me wish I wasn’t here
So I start to daydream about not being here
Not being dead
But being reborn in the country that flows through my veins
Then I’d never have met you
And I can imagine I wouldn’t ever have to know what it feels like
To be heartbroken like this
Maz Halima
A freelance writer, media researcher and general mad woman. Catch me running around in London City. Read more at mazhalima.com.