I'm making boats for the trip to hope from the paper I've clipped

It has no pronunciation and sometimes shrapnel will be stuck in your heart, like me, if you run away from the vengeful shadows.

I am a traveler: I have dreams of a traveler, veiled and well mannered, is my sadness the charm of life that I sometimes sing and sometimes sing? So let me start explaining.

A rhythm disturbance, the call of farewell in me, and the buried sweat in the dream cellar, I don't know how many leagues deep.

It's not ironed, my feelings are just fluent, it's just destructive.

The color of the old year has faded and my Lord is stroking my back: now I will set off whenever it is, whatever contract it is, in the presentation of my angels, in my supplication, in endless verse, and the stardust that I sprinkle away from the appendages of the night.

Of course, it wasn't easy to be separated from the old year: sir, not because I fainted, but only a few good memories.

I find it difficult to continue your reign in your life, but I am full of love for my faithful destiny, my almighty Lord and full of trust, and what I love most in the sound of the call to prayer is that I am more than a sadness and an idle heart whose crumbs I sprinkle in the prayer of the trembling love flying in the morning wind.

In the dead of night when I climbed a relative slope:

I can't get enough of the chatter of the limp moon while the gin is playing ball, you know, I am filled with sadness, sometimes with hope, and if I sob now, who would hear it but my Lord in the whole universe?

Recently, I have spent my life on vigilance, and I never knew the reason.

Even though it was a rhythm disorder night, I liquidated it only yesterday, what I wish for, not my dreams and fictional lives that I retired: again and again, when I lie down, only the daylight that has just leaked from the black hole and at work and work, I embraced the gigantic universe.

I'm not known, like everyone else.

I'm unknown, nobody if I emulate.

What do we know?

In the spectrum of feelings I know, sometimes I'm hot, sometimes I'm cold.

It was a cold season.

People, on the other hand, are intolerant and the breeze coming from somewhere has obviously remained in the draft, since my words have snowed a little, and I am not in mourning or anything, I am not looking for the path: my trust that increases in the course of hope and the peace that spirituality gives me when a servant of God cannot steal.

My eyelashes are the radar of your heart.

The shavings of your heart are my papers that I just tore.

On the other hand, I am making boats out of the paper that I have clipped and I will set off before the morning prayer is read.

Birds are guests of the house.

My heart is like a bird, even a crumb of love is enough.

Even though I'm in the minority.

Even if I'm alone.

My color is more or less pink, maybe I guessed more or less, of course, my complete surrender to my Lord, and the whispers in my ears are now clear even backbiting.

who am i who?

Is it a chemically degraded substance?

Is it a word that doesn't like innuendo?

I don't shed any tears after the lost year either...

I am grateful to my broken heart and the people who broke it, I couldn't love myself that much, especially my great Lord, here is my only friend again and I find peace thanks to my God friends as much as I put my head on his path.

There are many things that I stay away from, there are too many people, after all, I watch my back and my front in order not to fall into a trap, I know beyond, I know that I am protected and I dig my wounds and patches with ease, my blood pressure returns to normal thanks to the pen that I know how to use, and I take advantage of the humidity of the night and follow the process called sleep.

Who am I going to host in my dreams now?

And here is the first day and night of the year: praise.

Did the wind calm down a little bit, what today?

His arrogant rebellious demon and his followers are at work: neither sorrow nor sorrow.

I belong only to my Lord with my right and wrong, and my good intentions that know my inside and never fade, and that I walk with peace inside, not on a path prone to love.

I have to pass on some things and some people that I value too much and that I understand my value firmly: don't call me arrogant, you know:

Is it easy? My fight that has not ended with myself in the last years would certainly subside.

Sadness is a mercy.

A betrayal is a rebellion.

How beautiful it is to imitate white…

How beautiful it is to be as clean as a cloud…

Since I still have time, I must make the universe and inside of me even whiter, not for nothing but my tolerance and goodwill, after all, the new year was very coy when I presented myself and here is the time when I was the herald of finding myself, then come on.

Emotions and hope continue at full throttle.