We always thought that one day in the future would come true, we had our wishes

We are the children of tomorrow.

Maybe that's why we always kept our wishes and dreams for tomorrow.

We said tomorrow, we couldn't live the day.

We always think our wishes will come true one day in the future.

We kept our hopes in Aftalin ballot boxes.

Its back was tomorrow, it was always the unknown that never ends, it was the unknown that we longed for. We were accustomed to waiting, being consoled, being consoled.

It was the sounds from the dormitory that washed and purified our ears.

Pure pure folk songs were folk tales that cheer up Friday mornings with their sweet voices.

It was the school radio that taught us how to help each other, respect and love. It was children's hour, reminding us that we are children. It was the music box that instilled good music listening. He was saying that your eyes will be on the road and your ears will be on me. He said if I was so drunk that I would forget my troubles.

We are apple age children. Scratches of thorns on our hands and sweet melodies of hopeful songs in our hearts. He said that the richest person in this world is the one who knows how to give. We used to say that life was a holiday all together. Our holiday dresses are left in the branches of the cherry trees we climbed. Giant ladles crushed the rollers and passed over our red patent leather shoes.

All our hopes were scattered like cotton candy. In the pocket photos we read breathlessly, love turned yellow and in windy weather I still hear my mother's compassionate voice saying, be careful, don't go under the roof, the tiles may fall. The hawthorn necklaces we wore around our necks were more precious than all the jewels of the world. The tales of one thousand and one nights that warm our hearts on long winter nights were read in homes without television, without washing machine, without electricity...

Everything was highly valued, socks were patched, old socks were made of cloth mats, ladies were doing handicrafts, lace cloths were covered on coffee tables. How sincere the neighbors were, as if they were born from the same mother, we played on the streets, vineyards, gardens, running around in empty spaces, sweating, and eating bread sprinkled with yoghurt and powdered sugar.

As if saying that everything will pass, one should be like a human being, know how to value in life, should not walk away if someone says I still love you after years, show respect, not hurt for the sake of good memories, the old ones shouldn't stay in the past, a dried branch should bloom again, respect my love, look, if the star fox is what it is, your wish was to leave Why did you burn me in your fire, beautiful person, I will love you as long as I live, don't forget me, don't forget my word. There are few people who embody both beauties. Those who are seemingly beautiful will have roughness in their inner world, and those who are good inside will have problems outside.

Our lives were like radio theatre. It was the name we heard every day. They were mesmerized by their beautiful voice. She had a beautiful voice like her name, and so was the good older sister of the school radio. Doors would creak open in our homes, too, in the days when we pressed our ears to the squeaky radio.

We used to swallow that the back was tomorrow. We would patiently wait. Sometimes we knew how to give up on our wishes.