That's IT.

I understand when someone says they can love two people at the same time. I totally understand. I love two people at the same time, each in a different horizon. It's not even funny anymore.

I have to say:
I have lived. I really have. So many things I wanted to do, I never did. So many things I wanted to do I did. Does that mean that I have lived?

Maybe I dont believe in love anymore. They say that a heart only has space for one person. It's a one man list. Mehh. I dont get it.

There's such a thin limit between frienship and love. Why does love exist to begin with? How do you know love exists?
On what basis? In which way and why?

When there are too many thoughts, all at once. They collide and make this one ugly sound like a burp or something. Something completely pointless and meaningless. There's no point of getting them all out.

Oh, I have so many years to live. I have to survive so much unknown. It must be much easier to die. I mean, in a heartbeat, in a bomb, in some ugly shit sinking (not that, I like the sea a bit too much to die in it). But, there has to be so many choices.

One choice.
One choice can ruin my whole life. How can that even make any sense? How can regret make sense? How can..umm. OK.

Should I survive with "I dont know if I love you, but I will know" or should I give up? Should I give up? Is the best choice what appears to be the best option? Why do options even exist.

I have TOO much free time. too much free time makes me go insane. Too much free time is what makes anyone insane because they think too much it makes them go in loops of thought or memory, that's when it becomes LEAST fun. :D

That's it.

A poem I wrote..in arabic.

الحلم

لم تعد تتبسم فى وجه الأشياء الصغيرة.
و لم تعد الأشياء تشحذ منها الابتسامة،
فقد ماتت علاقتهما
حين مات فى عينيها
بريق الحلم.

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كانت تنادى الزهرات بأسمائهن
و الطيور، و الأصوات.
تسخر منها النسمات، ثم تعود
لتداعب الاحساس،
العائش على رموش عينيها.
كانت تغنى...فتنصت الأشياء.
حفيف الأوراق صوت الأوراق
و هى تحاول اللحاق بكلمات أغنيتها
المتراقصات على النسمات.
احتل احساسها حب الأشياء
فخافها الخوف،
و نفرت منها الحقائق الخانقة،
حانقة.

--------------------------------
و لكن،
تسرب إلى قفصها نبضات حب الأشخاص،
فحلمت بهم، و جهلوا اسمها.
الحلم مات.و أما حب الأشياء
فقد غرق
شيئاً فشيئاً.

In Little Sections.

Let's talk about things. Let's talk, slowly, about things.
Trust?
Who do I trust? who trusts me? Is there one person who knows I have good intentions? How can I trust people, trust my feelings about people when I had been betrayed by my favourite. How can I know for sure that I have a right feeling? And, what will stop me from doing whatever I think I want for the moment if I know that I live for myself? How can I trust when people do not trust me?

Feeling.
What is feeling? Where does feeling come from? Why, feeling? Why is there feeling? How am I supposed to trust feelings when they failed me before? How can I believe in feeling, still? How can I be sure what exactly I am feeling,even? How can I define feeling if feeling as a word in itself defines itself as vaguest vague.

Living versus Surviving.
I was never for surviving, I was always for living, the higher level. I was for feeling, sensing. I was always all for happiness, forgiving. The good things. Now, I cant even survive. It makes no sense I can not understand myself. I had so much to catch up with and I am not exactly having the space, nor the time to do that .

I Want to Love.
Like I used to love. I want to live like I used to live. I want to feel like I used to feel. I am in need of breaking something.

I am Helpless.

This is the helpless phase. People around me feel all kinds of bad things and I cant even make them feel OK for one second. Even if I try, I fail. Because I am helpless, I am chained. I cant do anything. Freshness of life has failed to reach the hearts of others. Freshness of life has become so worthless. Freshness of life can not do anything. Freshness of life is back as a 16 year old, sittin next to her grandmother who has leukemia reading her bits of the Koraan. Freshness of Life knows that whatever she does, if she can lift the building, if she would bang her head to the wall till her braincells come out, if she could get a hammer and just get all the energy out, it still wont go into getting leukemia to leave the old woman's body.
Now she's 19.
For a long time she thought she can, but she cant. Sarah will still slaughter her own arms, watch her own blood turn into god damn rivers.
Hany will still smoke up just because he knows no other way out of his misery.
Yasmine will still shut up because she feels alien and estranged.

Freshness of Life will die. Freshness of Life will turn into some ugly person who will getaway, one of those who will smile when they least want to. Knowing that others smile because they have to.

Laughing from the heart only existed in the Ice Age, yah?

The math.

I dont know what love is.
I like, I am attached to, but I love myself more. God does the math.
I am away, I dont talk a lot, I dont visit a lot. I feel like it's a heavy obligation to sit and talk. God does the math.
I study, I hate writing, I hate it. I get so stressed. God does the math.
I feel, I care, I am left. I am lost. God does the math.
Till when will god do the math?