I owe a smile to myself and to my inner heroes

A forgotten dream has unbearable weight. I am at the beginning of an article whose logical predictions and maturity have not yet been proven, while the language of the realities has become a buzzword.

The weather is a little humid and quite cloudy, and I make dream divisions, not in the tired nature of life, but in the name of sharing a fact that fatigue ends, or rather, when I took the pen in my hand:

As the pen swept me over, the particles of the night are flowing from their trousers and I refuse the awareness that I have gained in order to be different, maybe even I cannot distinguish what is real and what is relative at first, which seems meaningless to the reader at first…

I owe myself a smile because I wrestled like a wrestler all day long and to the shining sun while I was doing a manicure, combing the silvery haired light, called the day when the loneliness called life vibrates, with the teeth of the pen.

Sun and wrestling.

Is it when I hit the key or when the keys of the keyboard are owed to me?

So let me explain:

While I live a life with my ordinary or extraordinary mediocrity, while someone is pulling me by my collar and every hand that touches me, I know and know that I am a friend, and know that I have to do this.

Although not a notarized love.

While hidden in the sight of Allah, my sincerity and good intentions, and here I started the day with one-zero ahead, and see that; While I have always lost in the eyes of people, I have so much income in terms of gain that it is an undeniable fact that I have lost years and talents in terms of expenses and our house was moistened with a demijohn of water just minutes ago.

Sudanese reasons?

Or is it the smackdown of an ordinary day?

A lifetime when I assumed the ordinariness to be extraordinary and lived with all my sensitivity with the deposed dignity of the day.

With the fact that I breathe as deeply as I write, and the feeling of not being able to write on the road after leaving the title of a book that is considered the magic of writing, I breathe, love, while wandering around in the author's thick book about writing, who knows how many times.

I apparently counted in my place…

Actually, when I don't fit inside.

While I can't fit in the sky right now.

Our topic is deep, dear friends, because our topic is people and love and I bring the word to myself with a self-centered smile, and I bring it, although people bring it from a thousand streams.

There is a major platform where I write or not: but I don't move the pen with focus because this is my life and I am the sum of all the clutter.

It is not my purpose to explain myself, but during the day I am so loaded that my bag is already packed with a thousand and one emotions, and when it's night, I have to empty what has accumulated in me and deal with life and at work, it is my right to take a deep breath after I am purified, isn't it?

If I say that I scraped it with my nails, after all, my nails and veins are full of ink, and when the cartridge of my heart empties, I fill it with love, maybe I am filled with pain and troubles, and in a sense I am born again.

Even though I am a thousand years old, the wind inside me still hides me in the same place, maybe I am a sick soul in Freuden theory, after all, I live my life with the mood I was in when I was eighteen, but if I don't do this, I can't take a single step, the interesting thing is, I forget what my name is when I pick up the pen. pleasant…

Those who know my name are taking me away from my name step by step with the adjectives they add to their heads, and here is a love that never ends in me. I burn on the periphery of Divine Love and hundreds of words can suddenly be born out of a spark.