She's the one who killed me:
A person does not know what is going on in his hidden world
It is tall and beautiful, and when it fell, the sound of its fall was terrifying
It was as if a mountain had collapsed due to his hugeness and strength. He was the type of man whom you felt would never die or could not die. This is what a person thinks when he sees it filling around him with life. He works like a strange device that moves the flow of life around people, so events begin to come to you from every direction. Pleasant events happen to you. He produces life and distributes it without false packaging or illusions. I did not think that someone like him might depart from our lives in a disgusting car accident.
Wadima is back, that girl who faces the routine of life with determination and stubbornness, and uses the calm of her days as an excuse for a steadfast ambition. The spirit of Wadima, who lived in every house and street in that beautiful time, will be the focus of a new group of interesting stories and fun adventures, which the honorable reader will no doubt have experienced, He keeps features of it or some of its details in his mind and memory, a fresh oasis whose moments he recalls from time to time.
A lasting call to that wonderful, fragrant past, and a message of nostalgia and longing for the joy that was evident on the face of that time, despite the meager living, the lack of capabilities, and the scarcity of resources. Every story is a pure source of living situations that pulsed throughout our homes and resided deep in the box of our memories.. I recall some of its chapters and pass them on to a generation that did not realize them, but He heard about it a lot and longed to discover the atmosphere of fun and happiness in the lives of children there, drawing inspiration from it many lessons and rich lessons, cognitively and linguistically, that illuminate hidden aspects of that life.
As the days pass and the years pass, Wadima enters a new stage in the journey of life. I invite you to live those sweet moments with her. Perhaps she will draw a captivating smile or burst out into a loud laugh, the echoes of which will reverberate throughout, making us forget the trouble of souls from the pressures of reality and the burdens of a time that has exhausted us from wrestling with its times and the speed of its lapse. .
