We let the love we feel, consume us.

Yes, because it feels that good.

Because no matter what anybody elsa would give us, we would want to go right back to it. So, you see, opportunism abandons us right there. You could find the bestest of the best and you'd still return to the just okay. I believe that right there, is beautiful.

Where we let imperfection in for perfection to last.

No other moment, in that moment of living is perfect.

No other one more worthy of going to the moon and back for.

A pause to a running symphony. A full stop to an incoherent sentence.

(Anatomy of a Thinker)

Roof top.

Where shall I go?
Where should I run away?
Where should I go?

I am in baab el luk; 'Downtown' Cairo. I stood on top of an old building yesterday and I looked down. It was all different. Where I stood. A different country. A different city. The roof of a different building. Foreign shutters and window sills. Different choices. Different scents. A different path etched along unfamiliar lines.
I sat there, next to the edge of the roof. I looked down. Down below. and it felt the same.
Sitting up there. Thinking is anything ever going to be enough for me. Probably not. Will I ever be whole again. Full to the brim once, now dwindling to oblivion. Going empty. Becoming nothing.
Feeling nothing at all at times,  feeling too much at times.
A happy façade. A merry disposition. A pretty picture of silhouettes and spicy scents.

From The Confines of my Room.

Caged. Blinded. Maimed. Throttled. Deprived. Desperate. Dreary days, Nocturnal nights. Hooded heads, hushed voices. Silver lights, silenced hues. Creaking slits. Penciled patterns. Patent leather.  Patent parcels. Patent pieces of a lost little heart. Sweet lost and founds. Pearls of wisdom. Parts of retribution. Parts of a tainted faith. Some untold, some foretold. Colorless loss. Dreamt dread. Hurried heart beats. Impulsive. Angsty Anger. Acts of passion. Furious feuds. Love under shrouded mystery. Doubt under sheets of guilt. Loss under waves of laughter. Misery masked under someone's labor.

Late evening light. Brown sugar highlights in my hair. Lacy fingers across the strands. Pale white. Part Colored in death. Part colored in life. Lettuce legs. Splayed across the sheets. Limp. Light. Lying. Partly letting go. Partly holding on. Nicotine breath. Charred lips. Smeared smiles. Poison. Drugging death daily. Shallow strength. Silk skins. Superficial little stomach. Slender curves. Along the stretched limbs, bent back and bitter breasts. Closed calluses. Abysmal mass. Brittle cages. Burlesque back. Conceited caress. Corroding carcass.

Dainty little dress. Knotted together. Strewn onto the floor. Silent little ambush. Remnants of a rebellion. A Battle fought, Pierced hearts, Ships burned. Silent sirens. Part of a past. Part of a lost tale. Parts long forgotten, long abondaned.

A 'mithai' (sweet) vendor in a back alley street somewhere in Qasim market...

Photo courtesy: my beautiful mummy!

So glad to have mama in all my good's and bad's. :)
Can't imagine a day with out this crazy woman! :D :*