A Message from within

It suffocates me here. I feel as if I am in a prison. Unable to move or do any action. Everything is so small and squeezed. I have to always be pretending. I am not engaged by any means. I draw this smile and pretend I am interested. I am not interested nor smiling. Nor wanting to be here. I just want some space and some distance. It is so different from what I like and what I enjoy. It is even so far from it. Everytime I go there I am turned ooff. I get kicked out of myself to a large distance. It is so uncomfortable to me. I am someone else. And I am sure it shows on my face that I am not interested. I crave some piece and some space, physical and mentally. We are engaged in weird conversation. I so not connected to it. It is not that I want to talk about some sophisticated things. I just want to be interested. Its either revolved around the kids present in the setting. Or a talk about a kid that is travelling or about some prejudgement opinion. I literally don't have anyrhing to

Islamic museum. Parking garage. Customized. Inside a building and a mall. Not by any means close in shape or essence to the capital of cairo, city stars. Nor the empire states of the nile, nile city. Just an easy miss parking. In fact, an apartment building changed to be a parking. I am not sure where we parked. Living room or bedroom. Wish I knew. We went to take the elevator. A typical middle class man. Not sure middle or lower middle class. Just a real man from this old time. He was not old. Late 40's maybe. He entered with us and the whole elvator smelled. I inhaled the aroma and I smiled. There was this deep armoa of 'leb'. Seeds. He was 'az'az' leb probably on his way to the elevator and he simply filled the whole elevator with that smells. This smell took me back decades. To the slightly disappearing 'tasaly' shops. This little but famous shop next to the church in heliopolis. Overlooking the metro. The small bazar that sold leather sandals that I

It might be a fear. A fear from getting drifted somewhere. To this remote area where you find it hard to hit a home run. It is spacious and neat. Maybe full of life or maybe not. I can not quite decide for that matter. I swing between this thought and the other. In sparks of realization, dreams and hopes. I try to moderately calibrated for the variation. Not successful at it so far. Again, not sure if I enjoy the swings but at least am aware of it. Can not deny that I am very lazy with it. With finding its real cause. I maybe know and sometimes touch on it, but it seems to be a little farther than I want to dig at this time. I do not know why though. You know when there is a deep nostalgia that scavenge in these areas that are the most tender. It does not bleed though. Leaves no scars. Only untraceable pain. Haunting you. Associated with every deep smile or laugh or feel of love. As if it is a reminder of some sort. A ghost from the medieval time that is wearing a black head gear. Pret