it's been almost two weeks now since i came to libya. it's nice in tripoli but unbearbly alone. its like a cell, which its walls are as far as forever.
although i managed to make friends and see people, even have wine in a dry country, but it seems it is not home. it's in ways better than dubai. less hectic, silent but so silent that if it was anything live, you would think it's dead.
plus i cannot forget her. my dreams and thoughts are haunted by her memories. her image and soft voice are circling round my thoughts. makes it even harder to bear.
it's not something that i can forget.
as jibran khalil jibran puts it:
"it is not a cast i wear off today, it is my skin that i shall tear with my own hand"
and who's to tear his own skin?