I want to be free.
I want to write whatever I want.
But all married women now have red lines they can’t cross.
“Now that we live together, you have to forget about writing,”
They’re told as soon as they get married.

I was just a simple girl who liked to escape reality through books.
That’s when I met a guy who was good with words.
He knew how to impress people with his charisma even though he wasn’t very handsome.
That was the beginning of my love story.
romantic relationships, mental health, depression, suicide

She was never able to express herself in words,
Maybe that’s why I became her closest friend.
The day he left her, she called me laughing:
“I’m finally free, let’s go shopping!”

I wasn’t prepared for that.
You were my first love,
My first dream.
For the first time ever,
I became a slave to my emotions.

What’s he thinking of?
Does she have the right to say no?
Is it my right to pass judgement on her?
Is it her fault that she’s giving in to society’s standards?

I now understand why they say: “When poverty knocks at the door, love flies out of the window.”
I work, I cook, I wash, I clean, and I take care of the baby.
I just can’t do it anymore.
I want a break from my life.

“Why can’t I go tell him: I love you and I want to marry you?”
“Have you lost your mind? How could you do something like that?”

I found myself forgetting about the music,
And the fitting Fayrouz lyrics streaming from my earphones.
Forgetting about the book in my hands,
And forgetting my desire to improve my English.
I gazed at her face.

Ahmed: “What do you think of that hottie over there?”
Amr: “Which one? The veiled one?
I love veiled women.”
Ahmed: “Really?
Why?”
Amr: “You know when you get a wrapped present,
And you take your time unwrapping it?”
Ahmed: “I’m talking about the girl walking with her, man.
Of course I wasn’t talking about that woman over there.
She looks like the potential brides my mother makes me meet.”
Amr: “Your mother makes you meet potential brides?”
Ahmed: “Yeah, man.
All the time.
She thinks they’re all like her,
Or will be like her in exactly two years.
I’ve stopped meeting them,
So, now she sends me their pictures on Facebook.”

Two years ago, I was in a relationship with a girl I really loved. No, I mean really, really, really, loved.
To me, she represented everything good in life, and I gave her everything good in mine.
She didn’t leave a single good thing behind to help me cope with her loss.
She left me because of money.
I’m alone now. Completely alone.
breakups, romantic relationships