بدور حسن تنتصر
تزداد بأسًا بتصالحها مع ضعفها ، تزداد قداسةً بمشاركتنا المها و شوقها و غضبها
بدور تشتاق للضياء و انا لا اعرف خلف وجهها الجاد و سلوكها الحاد .. روحًا اكثر منها ضياءً ولا ارق منها نفسًا
فخور بكوني احد اسبابها لتكتب
It has been a year and a half since I last saw the sun. The overwhelming nostalgia for the light struck me again this morning as the warm rays of sun teasingly kissed my cheeks. I summoned all my mental toughness and inner strength to hold back the tears. That heavy lump in my throat is back. A deafeningly loud voice from inside incessantly urges me as I walk towards the bus stop: “Don’t you dare cry, Budour. Just don’t!” That heavy lump in the throat is back and is now splattered with my detained tears. The suffocating feeling of loneliness is back, too. Only a certain someone’s hand could erase the squeezing loneliness and darkness, but he is out of reach and his hand is too far away.
“Don’t you dare cry, Budour” kept ringing in my ears as drops of salty water trickled from my eyes and soaked…
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