How can you read words and sleep to wake up to another day just like that? I mean, how can you not let the words, the stories, the novels dwell, linger, breathe in you until you can no longer speak, read or write, or even live. Can a day pass without the effect of the words you read, on you? And what good would words be there? At the bottom of your being, breathing yet not breathing. Until their face appears on the surface, a strange being, something you cannot fathom; just because you gave them no chance to survive, to evolve.
You can't possibly want words to make sense if you just keep reading without breathing. Read and breathe in between. And give words at least half the amount of oxygen you give to yourself. Let them evolve. Let them prosper. Let them be. You. And I. And the world.

I sometimes want to write about nothing. You know, just write. Not let your idea slip from my mind into my pen to finally reach my paper. No no. I just want to write about not writing you. I want to be nothing like you. Okay, here I am writing about you again..
I want to dig deep into the nothingness within me and hold its hand to pull it to the surface so that I would look like I'm a superficial object (not a human being) to my world. What is my world anyways?
I cling to leaving, which is like a mirage, I just can't cling to something that requires my walking behind it, we'd both be running in endless circles. If that makes sense, you know?
I died once, from thinking of too many things at the same time that my mind nearly exploded and my thoughts were seizing inside of it. I died inside. I was hollow. Although somehow, killing every thought was a victory. Like being reborn to right what was wrong all this time. I just felt the dreadful pain of a seizure. It was horrible.
I don't really know who I am now, I just want to think of nothing for the moment. I want to let you guide me to your simple thoughts, at least the ones that appear on your face.
Oh, you again.
I don't know how to talk about nothing. I don't know how to be nothing without pain, without agony. Full of pride. I wonder how some people live proudly ignorant.
I wonder. This is not me. This is not me.
Hello?


How can you be so good at  running away from yourself? No. I'm not okay.

العدم كلماتٌ و ليسَ كلمة. فاللاشيء عدم. و الفراغ عدم. و السكون عدم. ولكن ليس السكوت عدم. السكوت عكس العدم. السكوت هو معجم لم يتغلب عليه علماء التاريخ أجمع. الصمت و الكَلِمُ ليسا كالشيء و عكسه. الصمت هو ألف كلمة لم يسعها قاموس عالمٍ انتصر جوعه  المادي على جوع كلماته. فأصبح كلامه يموت بطيئاً ، كطفل المجاعة. و ألف كلمة يهزمها الصمت. ولكن لا يهزم الصمت قوة أحرفٍ   متكررةٍ اجتمعت على هيئة كلمات. لا.  فقوة الحكيم في علمه بجهله. و قوة الحليم في إدراكه لصمته. في نفس الوقت.

الصمت يُكتَبُ و لا يكتُب. فكل ما لا يدخل الأذن أقسى. أعمق مما يتخللها. الصمت مشدود ثم ساكن. ثم ساكن و تتبعه كلمات لا تكتب. هو حرب أحياناً.  كالسكوت على الظلم. كسلاح ذو حدين. فسكوت الشهيد دليل إدانة الحي.

فإذا وجدك صمته فلن تنام مرة أخرى. أو تصحو. أيهما تريد.