The Diary Of Tears ( Eight )

Dear someone, any someone, you who might be rushing toward a crucial event or perhaps sitting at the corner of your elegant salon playing with your nose the time your friends have defined you classy and fully satisfied of your fashion sense. My disgusting friend, I believe in what you do, for fact, I see playing with your nose is a step toward independence or may be it is the involuntary philosophized freedom everyone is looking for. You know, I admire the invasion of your finger and the way you are rolling it into your nostrils, indeed, I enjoy watching you practicing this art, as if you are masturbating off a dirt of melody composed of a slow motioned sneeze. Meanwhile, in the bitterness of whiles, I dwell on the other side of the world, talking, my ear remains strange to my sound, walking, my feet remain weird to my steps, yet, having these feelings of strangeness, doesn't stop me dreaming to be instead of you, sitting at the corner of a chic salon, having no worries but, cleaning my nose in a very,,, very unusual way.

To Be Discontinued

( C ) Copyright 2012 ADEL ATTIEH