There are people who are connected to our memory. These may be your relatives or family members, your friends or colleagues, or just the knowledge of their presence in your life, like a memory anchor that shows memories from different stages of your life.
It is unfortunate that these people will change, become disillusioned, change, turn, turn away from what they were, and even though you are not as close to them as you simply ask them: What do you get? I understand that one is developing in his thinking. I understand that his conviction is changing but that he will be removed from every step. Got it here? How do? You would like to remind them of your memories, but discover that the present in your position is stronger and more intense than the past. And you are not so far from them as to make you do not care or care about them.
As time progresses, the circle of interest is reduced to those around you, and you lose interest in the tribe, the clan, the people of the house, and then we have time until we see who says myself.
But to be a contemporary of some of the above but you live this stage of this indifference to the pretext of the creation of the Creator, it is sad I do not ask for custody of them as much as lose their things as a friend believe in the hour of Safa Are they happy and you see them smashing themselves Tttima?
Just a question has become a space of lack of tact and lack of politeness. And then you are afraid to appreciate your question about their situation is not free of envy or jealousy, or imagine what your relationship with them in the past. You see them drown? Mother drowns with them as
Bahaa Taher asked in one of his novels?
I would like to see my life as a continuum of mental and personal growth. I do not want to look like a stumbling, stumbling walk, drawn by passions, tendencies, thoughts and desires, because this will inevitably go to loss, like their loss, but on the other. I would like to be able to justify every reaction, every act in which the features of childhood appear and the features of aging emerge, unbounded boundaries and unchanging convictions, for without red lines, empty blank spaces.