I don't think you will ever understand what you really are to me.

I come back from what is my work, my duty. The stench of the blood of my victims still fills my nose and my ears are ringing with their pleas and their curses.

Then your garden opens up under me. The lattice is like a veil, and when I jump through it, it seems to slide the memories off me and the moment I hit the floor I know I am safe.

It only works in your garden, by the way. Never worked in Damaskus or anywhere else.

When I walk into your room I am welcomed by the dusty darkness and the scent on your desk. Do you know what I feel when I see you there, standing behind that counter, bent over some map?

I walk in and you greet me, your voice always with that hint of irony. It used to drip with venom, but that is a mere memory. You even smile at me. Do you know what that does to me?

The closer I walk to you the better I can see you once my eyes get used to the relative darkness of your bureau. The Syrian sun is bright. But I would trade it in for you. Do you know that?

As you straighten up I realise once more that you are just as tall as me. I tend to forget. Maybe because I tend to forget that you are my equal. Sometimes I feel I must protect you. Then you seem smaller. Sometimes my guilt still eats me up and I want to lay at your feet. Then you seem taller.

Your eyes hold my gaze steadily. I can never get enough of your eyes. Your brown gaze that can change shades like the sand in the desert. It can be blazing yellow and black as coal. The blackest I have ever seen it was when I took you for the first time. I thought your eyes were going to swallow me. In fact, I think they swallowed a part of my soul which is now forever yours.

Now your eyes are a chocolatey brown. Their gleam is soft, but I know better than to think I am safe with you. Your tongue is as sharp as your wit. Do you know how stupid I feel next to you, sometimes? And do you know that I don't resent this feeling? Instead, I praise Allah that he gave me you as a companion. Do you know that sometimes I feel not worthy?

Now you smirk. How many times I enjoyed those sinful lips of yours. Sometimes I think of them when I am sitting somewhere, waiting for the guards to stop their search for me. Once, in a hay stack, I touched myself. Danger was around me, and all I could think of was your mouth. What you can do to me with your mouth. Do you even know that I would die for one more kiss?

Your hand rests on the desk and I wish you still had the other one. I love your hand. It is strong and sure. It never fails. It can draw intricate maps and punch a guard into the wall. It can lift the two of us up a wall, which you proved not so long ago when I managed to get hurt so badly that you had to get me. I still wonder how you knew where to find me. Then you took me on your back, tied my arms around you with my sash and climbed up the wall only to free run home with me on your back. Do you know you are my hero?

That hand can do other things. I am blushing now because I remember it preparing me for the first time I had you inside of me. You were so soft and gentle. You still had your other arm then, but it was your right hand that opened me. You also used to slap me with this hand, after Solomon's Temple. I remember how I wondered if this was going to be the only way I was allowed to feel you. Do you know I longed for you to slap me just to feel you?

But you gave yourself to me again, all of you. Your wonderful, strong body, your soft, dark skin, your coarse, black hair, your musky, manly scent, your sweet, mewling moans. Most of all, you gave me back your heart. Do you know I pray every living second that Allah may grant me never to lose it again? Do you know I would give my arms and legs to keep it?

I wonder if you know how much I need you. I would be lost without you. But I never show it, all of it. Only sometimes I think that maybe you know. You see, I am scared. Maybe, if you know how much I love you, you will not want me anymore. I have never been good with feelings. I am blunt and harsh. So I keep tiptoeing around you, hoping not to mess up again. But there is hope in my heart that one day I can tell you all.

And that you will still want me.