Running out of Ink

Writer: Maram Mohamed

Editor: Ahmed Ashry

I am losing it. 

I look into the mirror and I see my reflection. Perhaps I am looking from a different angle, because this reflection looks like me but feels like a stranger. I feel the vast difference, but I just can’t put my finger on it. 

It is like when someone moves every single piece of furniture in your house 5 centimeters to the left. There is not a single visible difference that your mind will automatically register, yet you will still feel off. Weird. Irritable. You will proceed to repeatedly bump into the corner of your leather couch, or perhaps knock over your favorite vase while walking in the narrow hallway which you forced that vintage table into, because it just fit. Your mind will proceed to encounter the biggest lag in history, yet you will still never understand why.

Tonight, the furniture in my mind and body feel foreign.

Tonight, everything my eyes land on is revolting. 

My soul is going through the biggest dilemma in my history, for no apparent reason at all. No justifications. No explanations. 

Tonight my soul is eloping, only not with a lover. 

I can hear my mind scream in agony, trying to persuade me that if I go on any longer with this oppression, I will lose all control. I don’t listen. 

Tonight, I am only alive to witness the second this misery will end.

Tonight, I pray the rain hammering on my window will mark the end of this chapter. 

My bookshelf is staring at me. My pen and paper are awaiting my next step. I would usually make love to them this hour, but not tonight. 

Tonight, I must run out of ink.