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He had expected his dismissal and in some ways he welcomed it; but for a moment after it happened he had a twinge of panic. It was as if the last tie between himself and the old life had been cut.

If he stared long and intently, the darkness gathered into a light, which took the insubstantial shape of what he had been reading.

When he was much older,he was to look back upon his last two undergraduate years as if they were an unreal time that belonged to someone else,a time that passed,not in the regular flow to which he was used, but in fits and starts.One moment was juxtaposed against another, yet isolated from it, and he had the feeling that he was removed from time, watching as it passed before him like a great unevenly turned diorama.

When he was much older,he was to look back upon his last two undergraduate years as if they were an unreal time that belonged to someone else,a time that passed, not in the regular flow to which he was used, but in fits and starts. One moment was juxtaposed against another, yet isolated from it,and he had the feeling that he was removed from time, watching as it passed before him like a great unevenly turned diorama.

وأنصتي إليّ كمن ينصت إلى صوت قطرات المطر
فلا أنت منتبهة ولا أنت شاردة …

eternal sunshine of the spotless mind
no thought of you

To be read with my future children!

ثم ان الانسان لا يمكن أن تبلغ خطيئته هذا المبلغ،ولا أن يقترف آثاماً كبيرة إلى حيث تستنفد رحمة الرب التي لا حدود لها. أتظنين أن في هذا العالم ذنباً يمكن أن يفوق الحب الإلهي ؟

My parents named me Sarah , which is a biblical name
In the original story, God told Sarah she could do something impossible

……..
When I met you, in that moment
I’m no longer part of your future
I start quickly becoming part of your past

It doesn’t matter how long we have been kept in cages
It doesn’t matter how strong your gravity is
We were always meant to fly

I’m watching parts of me evaporate like sidewalks water.
This wet grey, this nightmare dew, gone before morning.

She had been married to a man who had never bored
her and these people bored her very much.

She had liked it. She said she loved it. She loved anything that was exciting, that involved a change of scene, where there were new people and where things were pleasant. And he had felt the illusion of returning strength of will to work. Now if this was how it ended, and he knew it was, he must not turn like some snake biting itself because its back was broken.

That’s poetry. I’m full of po-
etry now. Rot and poetry. Rotten poetry.”

“If you have to go away,” she said, “is it absolutely necessary to kill
off everything you leave behind? I mean do you have to take away
everything? Do you have to kill your horse, and your wife and burn
your saddle and your armour?”

“Love is a dunghill,”.

“The marvellous thing is that it’s painless,” he said. “That’s how
you know when it starts.”

Who am I? And how, I wonder, will this story end?

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