And I keep running.

I keep looking for a shelter.

I want a shelter of thoughts, a place of familiar feel and sound and noise and thoughts.

I am a stranger. I am not home.

I cried for a jet plane, knelt down in tears and screamed for I am tired of fighting, I am tired of fighting conceptual battles and judgments and ignorance and pointless discussions with people who don't even listen and who don't even know me.

Then again, I realize I needn't to run off my country. You know, it gets beautiful too and beautiful enough to offer me an escapism along the Nile.

I am leaving too soon I know that.