It was just a one-word promise of life that filled our depressed mood ...
White birds stuck in the dark are tired, without light, angry, they will fall if they fly, they will not fly if they fall, how many seasons this is the beginning of the summer, how many love is the beginning of the summer, this tired body, how long have you been waiting for this summer season. You are deprived, you were not there anyway, while you were living in dreams, but you have spread to life, in the morning of the night, in the night of the day, this body that fell behind you is tired.
This body is deprived when the flowers lose color, rot, the gaze that has fallen to the ground, the tired wait. The writings of the tombstones have been erased, they have given their faces to the sun, the earth has cooled, the sun is about to set, the distant dreams are mixed with the memories, the pale face of an evening is with the dreams on my body, you are not here again.
My dreams multiply in my thoughts, silence reverberates at the bottom of my brain, this is the strange state of life, the desperation of dreaming, and you are always in my dreams, mostly at the end of the night, near the end of the night, you are in my anger. Forgetting meant unconsciousness, ignoring the past, but you are in my breath every moment that my breathing is getting narrower, you are absent!
A love that relapsed from year to year, this love was forgotten, maybe it was the fear of tomorrow, the unforgettable love, while I was playing my heart every night suddenly, you were not there, my heart. War on yourself, enemy of fear, doomed to the past, this life longing for you tomorrow. You used to worry about it the most, but now this is a longing that never falls out of my memory,
Breathing with your presence ...
These are dreams without tomorrow, yesterday is unforgettable, the sum of thoughts that dissolve this self is you, the absence that hurts me the most, at least give me a voice, an image, let it be my joy of life. A sleepless night's fatigue extending to this morning, I do not rub my open eyelids and you are still.
These are feelings of loneliness, some bodily weariness, the other a little bit of longing, only one body of resistance in total, only silences mixed into my silences that a deep humming, a silence, you are absent again. Tomorrow, dear, my body will be tired from yesterday again tomorrow!
You know, loneliness, loneliness, you know best?
My whole body got wet ...
Waiting is so hard, dear,
time is as if painful. Time is like a whip of pain, long and lonely,
The sound of the ferry away from the sounds of the train,
Away,
And far away
And I'm alone, swallowing by herself,
There is pain in my throat, dryness in my mouth,
The wetness is in my eyes, the breath is in my narrow lungs,
Far away from my heavy body
The sea is colorless, dirty white,
My dreams are black
My gaze is dull to the distance,
In the time that hurts life
You do not exist…
I know you won't come
I don't care if you come anyway
All the anger is with me
Which sentence is my dream is not clear,
Difficult, life hours
The anger in me is beyond the limit,
Just an impregnable size,
My gaze is with tired thoughts
And you're not there ...
In difficult living conditions,
Wherever I look in your captivity,
My gaze is ragged,
A brutal puncture of time in yourself,
You do not exist,
Much has stopped, as if three days ago
Or you were here two days ago.
I was gone ...
What were there to talk or write about by myself, dealing with this congestion by myself, staying looking at the burned-out lights while I was giving led me to think about my backlights ...
I am tired… Staying at the dark windows should not be as easy as it seems, seeing the lights hanging from the windows once, these days, pieces rupture from parts of my body ...
Seeing the burning lights, feeling overwhelmed in this troubled life from the days when I gave me peace, left me feeling heavier than I thought ...
However, these days when I dreamed my dreams were creating even more pain and dents in my body ...
I'm afraid of living the impressed dreams of tomorrow now. I am afraid of continuing to re-experience these indigestible conditions.
This must be a strange song of loving, crying with memories and breaking the desolation by shouting at the top of my heart ...
This must be trying to continue life with feelings of tomorrow ...
I just feel sorry for myself while living the future with fears of dreams ...
The breath we take at every moment is included in life, including love, including anger, betrayal and resentment.
However, the main purpose was to live life, by being included in love.
As we hoped to exist with years and the tides between the dream and life left behind, as my breathing conditions were forced by coincidences in life, they were dreams of being with hope out of anger ...
Loving was not a feeling of possession, it only contained dignity, despite all the circumstances ...
However, life was included in the breath with a turbulence within coincidences ...
The scent of her hair would penetrate her fingertips
I would look into your eyes ...
Longing gushed from my heart, I was afraid of the pain of his departure, which I wanted to dream of coming late ...
I adopted that I would miss that fragrance, and even tears would leak from my eyes.
These were unexpected fears.
I knew it would carry the longing, but my desperation and anger filled my face ...
You are so similar to my city that I miss you when I leave this city, I have distributed my love for years, maybe even decades, in this city ...
Why did I distribute my love with these years, because you also loved this city for me!
With your longing, we added our longing to this city and I always miss you more in this city, I say in my dreams ...
Now the hours make my life more difficult, because you always make yourself miss at these times ...
This is why my eyes always direct the familiar gaze towards the wool on the shore or northwest of the bay, why always my heart always wants to run in that direction, why the starting point of my thoughts always moves by looking in that direction?
It was as if my heart was beating to do so many things, or doing nothing made it difficult for me to breathe… These were the ebb and flow of thoughts.
They were desperate desires, and perhaps most of the time desperation would generate anger?
However, hope and the will to exist would endure the beloved wall.
When love was included in love, the right to live was born in times of inactivity and unwillingness, often with variations in swallow flights and in joy crises.
You are hidden inside of me, inside of me, every day is like a day before, to step on the longing ...
Each step goes back perhaps a few years. Sometimes I smile, and sometimes I find myself in the total chain of memories when I pout and say about the arrival, the past ...
It is as if I am listening to a fairy tale, dealing with the multitude of memories summarizing the whole past, and feelings of dreams drift away ...
Like the dawn waiting, I take turns collecting my past with chain links. My palms are scratched…
Devoid of...
The reason why it is not or cannot be is hidden inside of me, I do not have any part of me. It is not even in my longing, just the anger of existence in the presence of a life that has turned into a memory with the majority of the anger rings in life ...
Anger and longing are contradictory dreams ...
Sometimes there are smiles of their own, this life only exists for itself and the anger, grudge and stubbornness of the past ...
In a song, the repetition of the first two words, "be my ahem", is neither a rebellion to the future nor the past, it is unclear or anger expression.
Love is palpated like a handful of “clay mud” and turned in the palm, from getting angry with itself to get muddy and get rid of it.
Is it regret, is it the whole past, or is it pity for another who exists in love or
frankly, resentment, resentment, two words that are still undefined ...
Perhaps the limit of feeling of pity detached from feelings of resentment or anger on itself ...
Actually, my whole life is in a state of indecision and pessimism.
Or curling up in a feeling of inability to forgive oneself. Breaking and stumbling back to the original ...
A strange ambition and inconsistent.
It is also a hope to be able to turn into his own self by just pruning his soul from a standing position, but the priority was to get rid of the fears of tomorrow ...