I put on my coat, my friend, and went to the outskirts of the city. I avoided the crowds, the horns of cars, and the shouting of the vendors occupying the sidewalks. To renew my papers, I needed a thousand, thousand witnesses and two pictures, bareheaded, and to have my blood tested. I walked at a slow pace. My fatigue pushed me to walk with another fatigue. I parked my unlicensed car in the furthest place from... The traffic officer turns to her. I have a driver’s license that is not recognized and I am not entitled to obtain a driver’s license for any vehicle because I am an immigrant and a refugee. I went where I was going and finished what I had gone to with sympathy from the gentlemen and ladies responsible for my affairs. I returned to where I parked my car. I sat behind the car. I took the wheel, and as usual, I lit my cigarette, always with my black coffee. I sat thinking about where I was going. I was bored of my quiet corner. The weather fluctuated between warm and cold, not encouraging me to go to the wilderness or to my usual place. My childhood friends. I don’t know where they are. Each one of them has become under a star passing by me Many people are all busy with things that no longer occupy me and here you are twisting the braids of your little ones and braiding with your fingertips pearly poems. Here I am returning to my corner to become more and more lonely. I feel the wrinkles of my face and the gray hair is spreading and occupying with its roughness my soft blackness. It seems that as we grow older we become more delicate, but we think of leaving. There are no hands to wave to us or Our hands reach into our pains, but let go of that. Tell me about yourself, about the things that kept you busy, about the friends who wrote to us and we wrote about them, what their conditions are or what the years have done to them. I know that you are busy, and this pleases me.
🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀
ردحذف