On Days Past

Bil Zamanat, I used to enjoy walking around Jabal El Weibdeh, which to those not familiar with Amman, is one of the oldest neighbourhoods of the city. I had a very good reason to do so besides the beautiful old houses and narrow winding roads, as a certain blonde was living there, so every summer evening of that July was spent walking around Weibdeh with that tall girl, talking about anything; it didn't really matter what was said as being there and then was the point.

This sudden recollection came as I prepare for another pilgrimage to Amman, the place I miss more when I'm in than when I'm away from; much like the line of ancient Arabic poetry with the same sentiment:

يمـوتُ الهــوى منــّي إذا ما لقـيتُها

ويحيا إذا فارقتـُـها فيعــودُ

But I'm not going to dwell on this as this post is supposed to be as "sunny" as the mid-summer days in Weibdeh, the whole neighbourhood felt like home, even if home was a few miles away, every window in every house felt familiar as if I had actually lived there and looked through it every morning, or roamed around it in my slumber as I walked around it in my sobriety, there was a distinct scent of jasmine, and that scent still runs through me like the blood through my veins, I never smelled anything as beautiful, it was probably the scent of Love, as every emotion has a scent, the same overwhelming love I felt, and now am nostalgic to. Love ages like wine, or cheese if you prefer, it acquires more taste, more interpretations, as one grows older, but one thing remains the same; the memory of days past.

p.s: I saved the world today.