I am a natural disaster, and the storehouse of my heart is crammed.
Of course, I feel rich and majestic in the love and hope that I peck incessantly in that barley barn I'm stuck in.
I have been shedding hives for many years, probably due to the death of the horse rearing inside me and the overdose.
Many chemical products that I am allergic to, and countless hormones secreted by my brain.
Abundant production of adrenaline.
Serotin and endorphins, whatever comes to mind.
And I am one of those people who can be happy without eating chocolate, especially when I face myself and caress the innocent face of the child inside me.
It's out of my hands.
The rules we've been subject to since the virus scourge, and here's the only thing I can touch when I'm still myself.
Dozens of phone numbers that have attacked me since the day I tried to memorize my ID number and mobile phone have engraved on my mind all the people I love, even while they are registered with their names and surnames.
Miserable myself.
Ah, my dear self.
I have known myself as my own best friend and worst enemy since I can remember.
I am myself again.
What I kill is my miserable soul.
Whatever it is that stays hidden, I made hundreds of stories that I constantly tinkered with and fictionalized, which I did not reveal.
Oh, and my sublingual poems.
It is witty and wasteful, and here is the idle reservoir of my brain, which has been active since the day I started writing, whatever memory I have not used in my brain.
I am happy as if I have found a treasure, mostly when I am drilling myself.
On top of that, as my mood evolves, I remember myself as that four-year-old child.
Now that it's come to this, is it possible for me to stop writing?
What I gave up was so hidden that it was my inner voice that I suppressed the most in the warehouse of my inactive mind, and when I was exposed and subjected to external voices for a lifetime.
I have a lot of emotions in my procrastination that take shape day by day.
Since the first day I discovered my love for people, how could a room full of people or a street full of people not embrace the whole world, but the love and trust I gave them?
I'm like an ant, I go on a journey every night, taking advantage of my recurring inner voice with small steps and haste, and I dream a lot.
Let me know about the sentence.
All my sentences greet you as well.
Don't let my silence deceive you: suppressing the apocalypse that broke inside me is no small task, writing in this context is all my love and my love.
As we climb the ladder of life, sometimes we stumble, we fall, we try to get back together somehow.
Sometimes, although our journeys are short, the lessons we learn make us grow and mature. We spend our life finding half of an apple.
Sometimes we can find it, it will be a reward for us. Sometimes this gift stays beyond..
A person learns after unfinished journeys, that life is covered with invisible walls.
It hurts when he learns this.
Wherever he goes, even if he hides in the light or darkness, the pain of his heart will not go away.
He dives into the distance, tears flowing from his eyes and muttering, maybe the sun will rise and the wounds in his heart will heal without taking medicine.
With the rising of the sun, a person's heart gets warmer, maybe he will leave the pain and be born again.
We always take shelter in the wish.
I wish we weren't sinners.
If we don't make repeated mistakes, turn back time and face mistakes, open our arms to the earth and cry out to take away some pain that is the ember in our hearts.
Let's leave the bad feelings aside.
It's like a dress if we get rid of a life of wish.
A person can sometimes upset his loved ones with a moment of heedlessness. Then God says, what did I do?
Sometimes mistakes swallow us in the well of mistakes. This time we dive into the sea of loneliness.
If we manage to go to the beach without leaving ourselves alone with our hearts, which is a drought climate, feelings without becoming barren.
If we hug without thinking about what we will become, we surrender to the divine.
As we build the walls of life, we find ourselves alone in the tower.
Even if our wounds increase, let's turn to Him in Canada, let us live in the moment.
Maybe.
Maybe...
There will be no problem.
If we stop looking with our own eyes
If we surrender and look through His eyes, this is the ascent of life.
We are less tired with surrender.
