Writer: Nada Elnady
Editor: Khaled Mohamed
Photographer: Rokayya Khaled
Sometimes, I get this deep aching in my chest that begs me to vomit whatever I’m feeling at the moment right out on paper. It’s a feeling I can’t describe; I don’t know whether that’s my heart longing for escape from the demons that seem to consume my brain at night and hunting for the peace it used to find in between the lines I type, or if it’s my brain yearning for the very warm embrace that words used to envelope it in. I used to have the ability to scribble it all down without a second thought, to write the words with my eyes closed due to how fast and spontaneous they used to come to my mind. But now, as I move about the obstacles that life throws my way, like a car stuck in an ever-bumpy road, as I am a month away from becoming an official adult that never seems to escape the responsibilities that never stop piling up, the words started to cease on their own. At least, that’s just how I see it, or how I tell myself it is. As I am typing this down, the words are flowing on their own; I don’t care about the number of mistakes I’ll be leaving behind, or the messed up sentence structures, or even the unnecessary metaphors (ones that my brain managed to conjure up at 7 am) that are probably filling this piece up, yet I can’t stop complaining that the words had stopped, that I long and yearn for their company. Because even though nights like the one I’m typing this in right now are endless, words don’t accompany each and every one. Words only accompany the most lonely of them all, and that’s when they sew the hole inside of me like threads coming together, only to have these threads torn the very next day. Welcome to my very messed up 8 am ramble. No kidding, it really is 8 am.
