I just want to touch and love to love since the first day

Abandoned mafia, humanity in the monopoly of emotions and ignited suspicions:

A crystal dictionary puzzle, perhaps: a cold winter diary with butterflies on its flaming skirts.

A pang of inspiration while presenting the God who gave the order to write the summer days of yesterday's cloak out of the blue.

An inclined dream, perhaps, images looking for calves under oxen, and hope for help from snowflakes that pierce the darkness where the sky grumbles with gratitude.

The fruit-bearing snow clouds are not stoned, but nature and the city are crowned with snow, and here is where the shabby dirt flows; like a scientist who sticks a compass in the foggy thoughts of mankind on his sooty journey with the evils that the snow covers and his nightmares.

An exquisite smile, like a jester, the place freed from the shadows, the sky and the virgin snowflakes hidden in the temperament of innocence.

I just want to touch and the words while hidden in my cinema since the first day I could love to love.

Protective images and the miserable seagulls of the city I make eye contact with…

So what; There is no one to leave because the weather is cold, come and see the beloved city; white-bodied seagulls, troubled by the sea, and somehow they inhabited the streets.

While we wait for the snow to fall, the white-tempered seabirds that rain down on the window in the first light of the morning are pecking the black hole, not the lives stolen in the continental climate where they never belong.

Large and small pieces of bread that accompany the first light of the morning and put on the window in the evening…

It wasn't enough, the seabirds benefiting from the untouched waters of the cheerful white, who also benefit from the biscuits we snack on during the snack.

The box in the sky.

If the city itself is not the only thing the birds are loyal to in their temperament, these shy birds have no contact with the sea.

Who grinds the day.

Enlarge the heart.

The changing world and nature and people and m/pluses and the evolving virus.

It's like saying we've become a shahbaz.

Squads and tales of rampant sentiments and deserted habits.

Maybe it's a veil we've laid on the sky.

It is not the screams and nightmares hidden in the snow clouds that matter anymore: only the crazy regulars of the city whose black feet are crazy.

Snow and seagulls together.

While they wait for the snow to fall, the seagulls are falling, how gentle their gigantic bodies actually are.

Pink beaks and large pink eyes.

My God.

What a wonderful feeling to experience this:

Eye to eye with the seagulls that can hardly fit through the window, where faith also takes wings and one leaves oneself to the arms of spirituality.

Nothing else matters, because the birds and emotions accompanying a holy downpour are the expression of resignation.

What is felt is that nothing is longing, not malice.

Many birds, many snowflakes in existence.

To take refuge in the beauty of the Creator, who creates the mercy that rains while one actually waits for the snow to fall, from the news bulletins with subtitles as "snowstorm", and to the beauty of Divine Love, which is aware of our purpose of creation.

texture.

His touch and

Notes and notes, whose inviolability is hidden in the fabric of the universe.

While he often complains about the beauty of living, he hits the target like an arrow at twelve from the hardships of life.

Everything is very simple actually.

How does what we know as ordinary take on an extraordinary identity and grow in the eyes of people.

A phase is a season.

Has Nevri returned, too?

How does the almighty God, who gives sustenance to our loving feelings and human beings, do not miss the sustenance of all living things, while they refer those who cause discord to God and their supplications do not cease?

While we are waiting for the snow to fall, the seagulls are raining: even though it is close to the window, the street and the sea, the street and the seagulls are now procuring their food from the street and we city residents, of course.

Living the satire.

Your feelings.

When you don't get a human being.