Your story in my Blog - “I am the desert” by Diana Chemali

I feel inordinately hot and weary. Drops of warm and clear sweat trickle down my temples, releasing their salt in my mouth. I am exhausted. I have been running for so long, they seem ages of endless marathon. And this hallway doesn’t seem to reach to an end. I enter one room after another; all furnished with old furniture, some Louis something, that smell like old maidens’ homes, lace, mold and mice excrement. My knees go soft and I am lying down to find some sweet and well-deserved abandon in a