I don’t understand gratuitous hostility, the unjustified slam from private doors sealing individual walls. And yet I have to suffer irrational lunges from perturbed fellows. This is a like an open knitting work, susceptible of skipping stitches, blank holes, obviated disagreements outcomes. See my dance on the water, like a nymph’s careless floating, concentric waves expanding to grow and die. Where do they go when they disappear? It seems like the purest of the efforts waken up in blurry identities nothing by resentment. But I suspect that his poisoned spit, venomous minute projectiles, don’t have a great prospect. They tarnish the glorious inherited fields, where maintaining the harmony, should be the only goal. I see them dying like insects on the windshield of an unknown car model riding along a lost highway. Pity wouldn’t be the most accurate word to define my reaction, is not under my responsibility that toxic anger clouds are flying through the blue skies. It is not that I am in a higher level and they descended to the lowest, it is simply that they move in a world limited by the parameters of what it tangible. Those who get blind by a brief gaze of clarity, are like buried alive, and unluckily they have to run back fast back to their confinement basement. What unfortunate conflicts holders, those whose existence is only justified by life’s, so often, controversial diversity. B_Nour
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