itting around a huge fire, eyes transfixed on the little sparkles shooting out in all directions like small stars. I found myself in a world surrounded by silence. The deafening murmur of every thought screamed louder than the most nostalgic of yearnings. The aroma of the burning palm limbs, and the black kettle whispering to the soft breeze that echoed its own melody in concert with the sand's spooky orchestral symphony. The trauma that inflicts every thought with envy, and every sense with desire and I was contemplating the beauty of a night in the desert in the comfort of none other than an open sky, and a fire. While igniting my inner thoughts, the fire was too shy to indulge in spoiling the magical moment.
My desert, this home that never betrayed any of my senses. The dancing fire seemed to spotlight all and everything about life, and in a parade of sorts, it all came back to me in a haunting way. It has been a long time since I left home. Luckily, I am now the subject of the most contrasting paradoxes life has to bestow on a fleeting bird of the valley.
A person with deeper appreciation for simpler things he once did not notice. A degree of sophistication nomads and shepherds would hysterically see unimaginable. A carefree stroll along the barren dunes of the valley, a passionate stare through the eyes of veiled Juliettes in the Sahara, a drive-thru window of a fast food restaurant where, sizing it up and frying it is only a matter of extra pennies and a gentle push on a gas pedal. A far cry from where bulging eyes await the first buds of early spring to crop. A cultural dimension none other than different and awkward and polarizing. Welcome to my world of short stories as I saw it with sometimes closed eyes just so I relive it again and again and never let go of it. Never, ever
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