And I will remember how we made the sun blush every morning.

— Malak El Halabi

And then there are those you stop counting the years with because they are here to stay. They are here. And they aren't going anywhere. Nothing will make them flinch. Nothing will make them think twice. They know you at your worst, the worst you didn't even know you had. They know the sound of your mood swings, the color of your anger, how you curse when you curse, how you shout when you throw a tantrum. Furthermore, they know when you're avoiding a subject. Furthermore, they know when you're lying. Furthermore, they know when you're jealous. Furthermore, they know your vices by heart and they celebrate them. Furthermore, they celebrate you-- vices included. They know your lost dreams and how life fucked you over. Furthermore, they know the battles you lost. And they think your fabulous when you think you're just an unlucky mediocre person who once thought will make it big in life. They know the last time you were happy. They see the unspoken sadness in your eyes. Furthermore, they know the words behind your silence. Furthermore, they know the photographs playing in your mind when you're looking afar. They know YOU, the naked YOU, the raw YOU, not the embellished YOU people see, not the YOU that will be read in biographies or in elegies once you're dead, not the YOU that introduces you to others. They love you from the bottom of their heart. Furthermore, they are your family regardless of their blood. Furthermore, they are your squad. Furthermore, they are your people. And no matter how many times you make them open the door, they can't walk out. They just can't. Because, just sometimes, when people say forever, they mean it. They do.

— Malak El Halabi

At the end of the day, you should try to remember that it's not about the number of followers you have or the numbers of likes, comments, and shares your posts are getting. It's the number of people who will be present in the hospital room when you fall terribly sick. It's the number of people who will remember your birthday like they remember their first name. Furthermore, it's the number of people who will invite you to celebrate Christmas or New Year's Eve. It's the number of people who will actually show up to look at your newborn child or to bless your newly bought house. It's the number of people who will actually cross an ocean to see your face. It's the number of people who will wipe your tears when one of your parents passes away. It's the number of people who will make a slightly larger than a thumb effort to be there for you.

— Malak El Halabi

Be the man who has the spirit of a ruthless tiger, ravaging every dusty corner of my soul. Be the man for whom I will tame myself voluntarily. Be the man who can make me forget my birthdate in moments of utter delusion. Be the man whose arms are my harbor, whose lips are my shore, and whose name is my only salvation. Be the man who erases my past and draws my future with trails of roses and kisses. Be the man who makes me sigh behind the windows of Poetry, longing to be written. Be the man whose cigarette's ashes are confounded with mine. Be the man whose voice moves mountains inside me. Be the man whose eyes devour the innocence within me with every piercing glance. Be the man for whom I will transform exceptions into rules. Be the man who will dare to tear this poem from my hands. The man who will rewrite with the uncertainty of the future very single one of my verses.

— Malak El Halabi

Be your own solace

— Malak El Halabi

Build my night with your cheeks.

— Malak El Halabi

Count your salted wounds then name themlike the stars of a bright constellation Count your scars and bruises then give them the wings of forgiveness to fly

— Malak El Halabi

-Do you want me to leave?-Yes-Do you want me to stay?-Yes-Do you love me?-Yes-Do you want me?-No-Then leave me-I can't-Then stay with me-I can't, I can't, I can't*Equation of a fucked up relationship

— Malak El Halabi

He says "You are my property" and I feel relieved. After all, no one wishes to shatter what he owns.

— Malak El Halabi

He wasn't like those handsome men you see on the fashion billboards. He was handsome in a rugged way like a wood cutter with an unkept beard or a man who just finished fixing the engine of his car, wiping his oily hands over his white flannel shirt. Like a man who knows that he has starry eyes that can bring stars closer but doesn't even bother to look.

— Malak El Halabi