I am cold and passive. Like a stagnant blue lake sleeping in the arms of green mountains. And you burn in an awfully beautiful fire. Like those mad sea waves dance to grapple moonlight. Every morning, I see you touch your T-shirts and caress your red-dyed hair, with an endless emptiness in your eyes; in front of the mirror. Whenever any song of yours goes popular, you don't sleep for many nights. I remember when you removed away that purple piece of cloth from your head, you burnt in fever for several days. Whenever you stay up partying and return late, I know that you check into my room and stand here for minutes. Whenever you test your sound system before performing, you always reckon the times when we used to go with Mom. When your innocent beautiful recitation of the Quranic verses used to numb people. Then Mom left us. Things changed. I chose to rush to Him. And hid under His haven. And you, you chose a...