it is the morning hours and i wake up before my alarm. on good days this is how it starts. i have this deep love and affection for the tender morning hours regardless from which side of sleep i do approach them.
last night i finished writing and mailed a long long love letter. writing love letters is nothing new to me, all that i write are love letters. i have fallen in love with life, and that is all that i ever write about. i write about life and sharing life. even my most complex stories are about life, life and death, and that illusory four letter word that we call love, and that has us spellbound and helpless, for all it ever wanted to represent is life itself.
i love you. i am cairo. i am life.
who am i? who sits here?
i am nobody. no-body.
freedom.
life, what is it really?
i thought that my life was borrowed. it is not, it is mine.
