A punctured life

I think I have regained the feeling of fear, I do not know exactly what I am afraid of now; am I afraid of my inability to complete these papers, or am I afraid of death alone and unknown in a place that knows nothing about me except a name written on documents that do not belong to the place I was born? Or am I apprehensive about the end of a dream destined to stop before completion. The numbness has begun to run through my right foot, rising to my leg and back, and I hear a faint rustling in my spine as if leaves are being caressed by the breeze, and my three fingers can no longer hold the pen. Now your eyes, fleeing from the last meeting, shine vividly in my imagination, and your lips move slowly as they touch to pronounce the letter B, then part with a one-centimeter gap to stretch the Q, and they maintain the same distance so that the air carries your spoken word, then the scene completes, settled on them, pursed in pronouncing a Sad with a Dhamma without the silence of the L affecting it. Did I say: "We stay in touch"? I started reading lazily, but the letters pushed me forcefully... It is a novel about death, but it breathes life and love into you. - Asaad Taha, Egyptian writer and journalist