Cabin Fever

I been dragging myself to the lowest of low. There’s such a way I just don’t know. 
If the path I take is something I can change. Well, if it’s in my way is the deepest shame.

Plan B – Deepest Shame

As my chosen solitude continues, days after I broke my leg on a bike ride in the streets of rainy Beirut, I find myself leaving the reality of my realm to the world of my own memories. I sit there, creating in my own imagination, a city inside my head, with wide streets, planted trees, and seven towers that does not look futuristic, but rather look authentic and lovable.    

I sit, on a side walk of my own city in my own head, with no broken leg and no care in the world, I have freshly trimmed my beard; and I have newly acquired a blue t-shirt with short sleeves, and a pair of shorts. I am wearing a sports shoes and sitting in the sun of my always warmly sunny city, looking at the cars, with funny cartoonish colors, and impossible structure, as they pass by me. I smile and try to drawn in the imaginary sun in my imaginary city in my imaginary world inside of my head. However, a sting of cold brings me back to my own house. Broken leg elevated on my desk, blocking the view of my TV from me; the room is dirty, darkish and never sees a direct burst of sun; and my dog is trying to snatch my sandwich from my hand. 

I sight, and I look at the TV.

Two shells has fallen on a mosque in Douma, in the province of Damascus, destroying the area around the mosque, and forcing the people inside to run without continuing their Friday prayer.

 As you watch the video, you can hear, in the distance, the cry of a child who was scared by the sound of the shelling. 

I go back to my city. 

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