Ground zero.

At 10, he carelessly played. He drew houses with smiling suns watching over his imaginary graphite friends.

At 16, he absorbed his own style. Listened more and talked less. Pop music became his salvation in a world filled with rules. He dreamed more as reality blurred his vision with the everlasting stench of the ‘no’ engraved across his breath.

At 18, he woke up and out of his dream and watched the word politics eat into rules as the garrisons at the border slept through the invasion of free thought over his mind..

By the age of 20, he became a man, a man who needed a notion to believe in. One God, one Arab world, one Muslim community… He believed in one love. He lingered on too long and worshipped his own idol figures. Before he knew it, his world shrunk in, diminished into the grasp of his small sized hand, trying to hang on to his own fried up soul, his last surviving belief-worthy asset in a world that dines on his kind. He figured maybe, just maybe if he tried hard enough; a little patience and two pints of faith… he might actually get there.

At 23, he learned that POLITICS WAS NEVER THE ANSWER. His eyes changed as he grew up a bit more, developed a sense of humor and viewed the world for the satire that it is.

His entire tenet of a soul fell short of all reason. He doubted his mere existence and patronized all surrounding fellowships, believing that they would only pull him down, deep down into the abyss of repetition. They bored him blind.
He manifested his own monster and savaged every thing that held the slight thought of shaking his peaceful aura. His mind was deserted as the tenants of his rooms fled out and away from the plague left eating at the core of his soul, at the very floors that saved them from the flood of reality forever; their lie of security; his notion of common sense.

By the age of 26 he grew a beard, sticking to the belief that someone up there will eventually answer him back and bring the colors back to his eyes where everything fell under one shade of grey.

But then he stopped listening as he realized that the Arab world, the Muslim community, the one love, and the surviving soul… all don't matter; that they're all idols that he's built with his bare hands to hide behind from his generation's turmoil. He dared not to say more as he carelessly threw one last dot at the end of the vicinity of his sentences and dozed off to a better state of mind.