Mold is filling everything

I am filled with a hidden feeling of immortality, a feeling that everything I love is going to the end without me.
I wasn’t experiencing a sudden mania when I asked for just a piece of paper to write. They sell apples like this and everything.
I am not a journalist, I mean, I didn’t become so, and this willful abandonment of things around me may indicate that I have never felt powerless in my life. I have refused to join a university faculty, marry a random girl, be judged by a dictator, or at least have a child in this world. I saw unique charm in my negativity and mockery because I could control it, or, at least, I had justification for it. But when that happened, and I’m sure that “that” was a case to discuss, but not a book for example, because I remember what I read very well, I concluded that I actually never meant what I was calling for, or it just wasn’t impacting my own decisions.
Sorry, but I didn’t order a coffee. Of course I love coffee, I adore coffee, but you don’t understand. I don’t like to be given things unless I asked for them. That’s what keeps me focused.

Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude; on the contrary, I used to be more kind to strangers because I don’t have anything against them. I also trust everyone who reads books like me; well, reading was once part of my balance.

First day:
I yearn to take a violent attitude from things around me, not to let nostalgia sneak into me. It is not the war, it’s my details that led me here, and all those fragile images, all those scruffy clothes, are just miserable memories now.

Yes, I am too picky, naturally, and I believe that a man shouldn’t try everything in life.
I’ll think about writing a novel later and publishing it in parts. Only then, the narration would be sequential.

Second day—morning:
It seems like even on my holiday, I cannot rid myself of the “waking up early” curse. I mustn’t miss the hotel’s breakfast.
I am here in Geneva, one of the most important places in the world, but I live in a small city in western Germany. I chose it because it is not a big deal, just like me. I am starting to love it.
May you excuse me? I’m a bit confused because my experience is not really qualified. I have been through a time when I knew exactly what I wanted and asked for it insolently. But in the end, following the evolution of a character is a tedious task, and I know that big successes need a whole life, a certain period of time to make meaning for themselves. And those who don’t have the patience to raise a child won’t be able to write a novel, or at least a long one, but will keep coming up with complex, confusing texts just as a wet dream.

I would also like to tell you, well, when my father dies, that will really be tragic. But what happened between us was a distortion that I didn’t want to happen; that’s why I curse it.

Second day—evening:
Romantic sentences are grammatically weak formulated.
I haven’t yet found someone who listens to my music playlist in the same order I do, so I can share my room with him; the emptiness. I’ve become aware of it.

Third day:
I can’t describe the amount of internal violence these developed cities can create inside of me. I wake up in the morning, and I want to shout at someone. I go to work, and I need to kill someone. I come back with a particular desire for random dancing or jumping.
In Berlin, I went to Bergheim. I let someone I don’t know kiss my neck. I saw people having sex in front of me. I masturbated, shuddered, took a few drugs, not something heavy, so I cried a lot. But there was a moment, or less, when I was unconscious. I woke up to say that I don’t want all this; I don’t want to repeat it. Then I took the way back home, for eight hours, with fast heartbeats and high temperature. These memories—the details—are all not really true because they don’t resemble me.

Fourth day:
I missed the breakfast today because I was not interested. Everything that came out of me was just a reaction because I am such an emotional person. I am the mirror. Hahaha.

The fifth day:
While you are trying to imitate adults in their steps, you become a mean person who can’t handle seeing any faults.
I would really like to forgive you, if I wasn’t guilty, too.

Day six—morning:
There is a new exercise I would like to practice, and that is looking into people’s eyes while I am talking to them.
Excuse me, I thought I could cross over here. No, not the business class, I ignored the signs; yes, there, he is also there, but I am not understanding.
I will be patient with things until I finish them. But the other things, my things that I love, I will repeat them every single day.

Geneva 30.03.2018

Farah Alnihawi

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