Everything was too sharp and clear, so that I could never tell where to start - the way a map that shows to much can sometimes be useless. Now, though I realize that all I can place in the imperfect vessel of writing are imperfect memories and imperfect thoughts.

“Whatever the composition of this new world might be, I surely have no choice bu…”

“الاحتمالات مثل السرطان، كلما فكرت فيها تكاثرت بشكل أكبر ولا يكون هناك سبيل لإيق…”

“No one could say how long that life would last. Whatever has form can disappear…”

“For me, running is both exercise and a metaphor. Running day after day, piling …”