I Am Not Myself

Shatha Mohammed

Total Pages: 124
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To the sovereign of despair who shattered my peace, Dear Mr. Ancient Sadness, this is for the endless nights and the weeping of my dreams. Disguise no longer serves any purpose; I am utterly spent, with every shred of my being weary. My facade can no longer sustain a role in this drama, nor does the notion of living appeal to me any longer. I am utterly weary. Let us simply succumb now, before I do. What will endure are the letters I penned in moments of yearning for escape, the words that bear witness to every goodbye I’ve ever uttered. To you, I dedicate all my farewells.

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