I do not have living things, everything is stagnant in stagnation, even the features of my tears began to drip quietly.

'Where do those who want to meet themselves go? Is there no place where they gather lost souls?

What beauty is there after your eyes?

If only a person knew how light he becomes when he gives up the things that no longer suit him.

The darkness of the night makes my mind a repository of thoughts.

. ماذا عن الشعور الفائض ، الذي لا يُكتب
ولا يُقالة .