and the poem

I remember the first day we met. My hands were shaking and I didn’t know why but I think now I do. I think that somehow I knew that you were going to change my life. I wasn’t going to be the same person as I was before. And I think that scared me. But I’m not scared anymore because you’re here and we’re together. It’s you and me and now we laugh about that first day because those two kids, they couldn’t even imagine where they’d end up. But we wouldn’t want it any other way.
In the waiting, anxiety strikes me when I think about all the possibilities : maybe she lost her little bag in the train,
And lost my address and my cell number, and lost her appetite and said “He has no share of the soft rain”.

في الانتظار، يُصيبُني هوس برصد الاحتمالات الكثيرة: ربما نسيت حقيبتها الصغيرة في القطار
فضاع عنواني وضاع الهاتف المحمول، فانقطعت شهيتها وقالت: لا نصيب له من المطر الخفيف
— 

Mahmoud Darwish, In The Waiting -  في الانتظار 

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