Like gray raindrops.. Our days fall on the window of a lifetime.. Like pieces of the misty night.. Thoughts gather in her tired head.. Then they will soon dissipate, leaving behind heavy air in her lungs..Like remnants of matches on a forgotten table that burned with pain, and then realized that it does not belong to the hustle and bustle of this world.. It does not carry the DNA of the absurdities of survival.. Rebellious to the point of surrender.. Different to the point of shock.. Behind her smile are dungeons of sadness.. Where tears shed. In the shackles of prideShorouk Kamal is a human doctor, she writes with ink of the heart and seeks in words mutterings for souls, even if they are hymns of pain, she dreams of filling pages with her words that are engraved in the memory of days, immortal cities, and shrines of feelings that you return to anoint with its sanctity