Five hours climbing the dunes, still, I remain determined that this sand will not be my sepulchre.
I hold my breath as the kissing camels come into view, flanked by red flags, fluttering faster than my heartbeats.
Months of letters, crippled by heat, our secret words traveling miles. The waiting finally over. One more steep climb, and I would finally see the face of my love.
Each step adds more echos. He promised to wear blue. The man that shared with me a secret dream of leaving Morocco; a country that cannot bear to hear a woman speak her mind. I reach the peaks in time for the crowd to roar.
“Reed!” I shout, waving my hands, but I am small, a red ant at this distance. His insignificant, significant other, and I can only watch as his torch ignites and he heads straight towards his enemies, a brave cerulean caftan draped around him.
I hold my breath, remembering the last time we had been face-to-face. His shape in my family’s riad, his greatest assets several bags of rice and a grin.
My father’s words, “It is simply not enough.” And the moan of the door as it shut out the only light that had ever been there.
“Just one fight then we can be free.” He convinced me after several months of drought and distance. Now, he charges the Barbary lions, his horse faltering, his steed rising up, dumping Reed onto burning sand. His final cry, “Forgive me!” As the pride tear apart my heart.