🦢

You get a strange feeling when you're about to leave a place. Like you'll not only miss the people you love but you'll miss the person you are now at this time and this place because you'll never be this way ever again.

"A university degree, four books and hundreds of articles and I still make mistakes when reading. You wrote me "Good morning" and I read it as "I love you".

"I want to live simply. I want to sit by the window when it rains and read books I'll never be tested on. I want to paint because I want to, not because I've got something to prove. I want to listen to my body, fall asleep when the moon is high and wake up slowly, with no place to rush off to. I want not to be governed by money or clocks or any of the artificial restraints that humanity imposes on itself. I just want to be, boundless and infinite."

What kind of writer am I? With all this love and no words for it?

لو رأيت بك عيناً سأقول العيب فی عيوني

Everything is burning, my soul, body, outside, inside, heart, flesh. Do you understand? Do you really understand?