By: Ahmed El Sheikh
“In the corridors of the night, nostalgia creeps in with the eyes of a sleepy cat, memories dragging it into the arena of pain.
Silence fiddles with the top buttons of my shirt, tempting words to come out like a teenager searching for his first confession.
As for time, it slips through my fingers like a shoeless shoe, its minutes scattered on the edge of absence, drowning in a moment robbed of security, leaving me stuck between the fragments of what was… and what was not.”
