By : Hatem Dhwibi


Where you were born, where you were raised, where you live, there are always people who care. They care about what you did, do, and what you will do. They care if you laugh and they care if you cry, they care if you are upset and they care if you smile. I had people who care, but as I moved to America I started to realize that I am on my own. It was 4:00 am in the morning, and I was standing outside, it was just me and the silent walls. The weather was not that cold but I was freezing, because I felt what it is like to be alone. I knew that no one could understand so I talked to God but God did not answer, eventually he will. My body was standing but my spirit was walking around the streets of Fort Smith. The streets were calm and beautiful, they were silent but the walls were talking and I could hear them. I could hear them because there were pictures on these walls speaking out to me.

I was not the only one who hides under the wings of darkness, there were other people who can only speak when it’s dark. My words speak for me and their paintings speak for them. These paintings were reflections of their souls. I have asked who did these paintings and apparently most of the people don’t know because they didn’t see them. I did not see them too but I saw that they were trying to tell something, so I kept staring at these paintings until the sunrise.

This article would be one of my shortest articles, because it is not about places I advice readers to visit, it is not about a history that I want people to know about. This article is a letter for my readers to try to be aware of the things that we may not be able to see but we have to feel. People have secrets, thoughts, people have gifts, passions, but every single one has his or her own way to say what should be said, and I want the people to start listening to the things that they cannot hear.

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