Reality scares me when I write poetry!

I don't want to be a poet or a story writer these days, reality scares me. I wish I'd tried writing fairy tales. Every time I fell into a blind well, a prince on a white horse would come down with a magical vine and rescue me from this whirlpool. When I looked into your eyes, at least I would have the chance to float into them and see what was in your heart. I wouldn't have wondered for days, I wouldn't have tried to talk to you, I wouldn't have picked up the phone and thrown it over and over again, and when I had the chance to talk to you, I wouldn't shut up in front of you.

While you were stroking in the vast seas, I would become the rainbow and wrap your body... Every stroke you took would bring you closer to me... I wouldn't drown every night while trying to reach you in the abyss of thoughts. The sky wouldn't get heavy like lead and fall on me. False smiles wouldn't fall like lightning on those dark waters... Waves wouldn't hit the shores with a vengeance... Stars wouldn't slip, continents would meet each other. In the face of such a majestic stance, love would not be hidden in the life of a butterfly. And as the seagulls flew overhead screaming for freedom, the sweat from my palms would be medicine for their wounds. All the blacks would be pink, blue, green... The universe would be colorful... I would laugh, you would laugh... Laughter would surround everything...

Then the sky would be darker at dawn... The clouds would carry love in them instead of rain... Reunions would fall from an angel's wing in torrents. Hope would ripple in the harbors... All the wounds of the mermaid would heal... She wouldn't foam so madly... The waves wouldn't beat the shores so fiercely...

Were we peers or the same age? It's so hard to remember. I know he's long gone. Is his grave overgrown with weeds, is there anyone praying at his grave? Questions that remain unanswered.

Everything is normal so far.

Here we go. Don't be ashamed of your existence, human being. But we are all responsible for what happens. Together we withered the flowers. Together we changed the course of the seasons. That's the way it is.

Love is not as incomprehensible as it is thought to be. Love makes its presence felt in the multiverse of transparent thoughts. When I realized that living without purpose is not a high act, the stones fell into place. I knew that the tree was the root of my soul, the water had levels and the doors had a back, but I had never experienced any of it to this extent.

I am not ready. That's why I write so abstractly. Sorrows, fights, wars are all in one place for me. I don't actually write abstractly. This is how the picture in my head was drawn. Because the world is blurred.

I can write the final beauty by describing, I can write words side by side by making associations. I do it unconsciously. And it would be very appropriate. I don't want that. The dream I'm after is not the ordinary kind. Love is beyond. Time is in full swing... I'm at the window. The world is saying goodbye. To this indecision. This disorder.

Turn the silent ones.

Love is incomprehensible. It can't be reached by circuitous routes.

The genetics of existence should not be tampered with. This thing that makes people introverted kills the heart. We are in a state of necessity. They find us both crying and carefree, trying to hold on to life. They see us.

We could never tell each other we loved each other, but what does it matter, our eyes spoke for us. We were at the youngest age of our youth, even childhood. It was almost a tradition to play hide and seek in our street in the evenings. We always hid together, the two of us. Sometimes our hiding place was narrow. Our bodies would touch each other. We were both the happiest people in the world at those moments. We promised each other that we would get married when we were a little older. Suddenly our dreams were shattered.

As the time passed like a dream, the elders sat down, talked and agreed, they betrothed my love to the child of the other house. We buried our love in our hearts. Without wasting time, they did the wedding. She was someone else's woman now. But my love was not good for him either. Her tired heart stopped at a young age.