I haven't slept in thirty years, but I no longer desire sleep. I pour salt into my eyes to prevent them from closing, fearing that in my neglect they may harm that innocent child. When I imagine that scared girl is you, that Narjis is Zeinab, and that young man being beheaded is my Hussein and Reza, what do you expect of me? To simply watch, to be indifferent, to carry on with business as usual? No, I cannot continue living like this.