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The Ballad of the Sad Café

First of all, love is a joint experience between two persons — but the fact that it is a joint experience does not mean that it is a similar experience to the two people involved. There are the lover and the beloved, but these two come from different countries. Often the beloved is only a stimulus for all the stored-up love which had lain quiet within the lover for a long time hitherto. And somehow every lover knows this. He feels in his soul that his love is a solitary thing. He comes to know a new, strange loneliness and it is this knowledge which makes him suffer. So there is only one thing for the lover to do. He must house his love within himself as best he can; he must create for himself a whole new inward world — a world intense and strange, complete in himself. Let it be added here that this lover about whom we speak need not necessarily be a young man saving for a wedding ring — this lover can be man, woman, child, or indeed any human creature on this earth. Now, the

I never want to stop holding hands

Her... One word that means so much to me. A simple reach from her,a message left,a text and my heart soars. I wish I could tell her everyday Let her see and feel what she has become to me So maybe just then she'll understand that she's not who she claims to be. A look into her eyes, A kiss on her lips, Stroking her silky short hair, The smell of her perfume, The attitude, All her different moods, The way she loves,teases,bites and touches, The way she is who she is, The magic she brings into life, And that look that makes my knees weak, Her kindness,her soft heart,how she sleeps like a baby. I never want to stop holding her hand, I never want to wake up to anything but her face. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”  ―  Antoine de Saint-Exupéry ,

What I See When I Close My Eyes.

When I close my eyes, This is what I see, A little girl with short blond hair watching scary shadows of two people fighting in their bedroom, I see a terrified child,and I sense the fear, I close my eyes harder,I think of something else,work it's going great, Oh wait, There's a little girl running towards her bedroom, She's packing her clothes,she's full of anger but I still sense her fear, She wants to go somewhere with someone,she has a destination,I can't tell where. I shut my eyes even harder, I try to concentrate on not thinking, Flowers,beautiful flowers blossoming on a sunny day, I like them flowers,I love red flowers, Red, Bottles of alcohol under my father's bed, My father's anger and bad temper, Sex with different women, My father's love, His kindness, His strength, His weakness, His terrible relationship with my brother, STOP! School days, Oh these were cool, Teenagers, crushes,my first boyfriend, The first time I had

The streets of Cairo AKA The nightmare

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          She walked down the streets of Cairo in a relatively cool night, when a cold breeze hit her knee length royal blue dress. For some reason the wind didn't come as a welcomed guest as it always did in Cairo, she could feel the hair on the back of her neck standup, goosebumps spread through her body. She could sense both danger and for an anonymous reason fear.          The night was getting darker, she had to remind herself that she was almost home, four more streets and she'll see her building, walk faster and you'll make it. As she started walking a tad faster she heard it, the one thing every girl lives in the middle east fears the most. The sounds of drunk men shouting harassments on how beautiful her butt is coming closer, no matter how faster she ran they managed to get closer to her, what chance has she got anyway, they were in a car and she was walking. "You might consider spending the night with us sexy ass" shouted one man, "Yea, we kn

A miracle of four letters.... Y-A-R-A

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Cairo,September 2009 Mass communication Al shorouq Section room number 202, is where I first met my lovely sister Yara. The amount of things we went through together make my head spin when I think about them and try to put them into words. Through out the past 5 years we've changed a lot,and I can't tell you how thankful I am that no matter what happened to both of us we managed to come out of it stronger as individuals and as sisters. The amount of times we fought, disagreed and sometimes even hurt each other aren't few,but I'll never forget that when it came to me,knowing how different I am you always changed your perspective and outlook on daily life situations. You ALWAYS put yourself in my shoes which is impossible for anyone, you listened,you cared like no one I've ever known,but most importantly you UNDERSTOOD. We share tears and smile that came from the deepest place in our hearts which is almost impossible. We've seen each other down and we pulled e

To my daughter and my "parents" .. On my birthday

My dear daughter, I write these words as a promise to you before I see you,before I even know if I'm going to have you. I write because I just knew that words can be forgotten but once you write something down it will always be there,you'll read it and it'll either break you down to pieces or bring you back together. I write because now I know how powerful words are. I just turned 22 and I'm so glad I made it out of home as a normal,sane person. I'm neither racist,sexist,homophobic nor religious. -I promise to never have you till I'm 100% sure I will be there when you need me. -I promise you I'll be a good parent, I'll never do to you what my own family did to me. I will never leave you or quit being a parent,I won't stay and be useless. I'll never become a parent with drinking problems, a parent who has sex with whores and isn't bothered to shut the door. I'll never let you feel the rage I feel deep inside my own self. I promise t

Rape Culture

Rape culture is I shouldn't defend my friend when an overaggressive frat boy has his hand on her ass,because standing up for her body “makes me a target.”Women are afraid to speak up, because they fear their own lives - but I’d rather take the hit than live in a culture of silence.I am told that I will always be the victim, pre-determined by the DNA in my weaker, softer body.I have birthing hips, not a fighter’s stance.I am genetically pre-dis-positioned to lose every time. Rape culture is he was probably abused as a child.When he even has some form of a justification and all I have are the things that provoked him,and the scars from his touch are woven of the darkest and toughest strings, underneath the layer of my skin.Rape culture leaves me finding pieces of him left inside of me.A bone of his elbow. The cap of his knee.There is something so daunting in the way that I know it will take me years to methodically extract him from my body.And that twinge I will get sometimes in