Muneenah yaseer sheikh, I don't promise you a bed filled with roses,
I also don't expect you to expect a tub filled with milk and roses,
I don't pledge to you a marriage life filled with love and fiction,
We're gonna fight, but at the end of the day...
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Emotional attraction,
Indescribable feeling,
Submission entirely.
Dubai UAE July 2010 (present). MuneenaYaseer Sheikh.
"You truly are a blessing to me" those were the words he had uttered.
There clad in his denim pants and tiger prints shirt,he stood in his vertical extent greater than the average.
It was so swift that she didn't realize he had taken a leap and was on his one knee, like a date palm tree,short,squat,docile and slavish.
Completely submissive.
It was a longing wish of hers to be in the position where he would be kneeling before her, but just like all other days. It was only a dream, a sweven it was.
She stirred and swerved,her elites making a skelly in response.
she despised closing her elites to his sui generis blues. She despised being avaricious before those cryptical strained eyes of his, she despised behaving like an intricate structure before his eyes,more of all, she despised how he drees for her mistakes.
after few menacing minutes,she sat upright on her bed completely awaken from her slumber that seemed long lost gone,her eyes trailed to her open curtains that gently shook similarly to the leaves that danced to the rhythm of the wind in the eerie and silent atmosphere of the dark.
Her eyes slowly raped the oval shaped natural structure that sat elegantly on the seat of the clouds,outshining its beauty and proving elegance.
The moon reflected the universe in a considerable way that it made her jealous of her very existence.
Her eyes then moved to the mirror which sat cross legged just few inches away from the bed she was on. She stared back at the desolate empty reciprocate of hers, her eyes met similar elite brown hazels that seemed cryptical and not so appealing. The woman staring back at her was not her.
It wasn't the happy,blissful lady of the last few days,it was a lonely,disheartened creature seated far below the opened and free sky and far away from any signal of happiness.
He who plants thorns must never expect to gather roses. She had heard people say,she never thought it would or was to be applicable to her.
Was he asleep?
Or was he awake at the moment.
He might as well be in the kitchen making a cup of cappuccino for himself.
That addiction of his was never to leave anytime possible, she smiled feebly, her smile a reflection of potency.
The smile at all did not pop out her dimples,it didn't at all make them twitch in delight,rather,it left them caged and obscure, frail of the beauty they held.
