I am, of course, a girl from the third-college school that I wish to reach, based on my thoughts that accompany my feelings that are not known to be stolen, no matter how old I am.
If it is a hegemony, its life-ending battery, of course, has no nationality, pain and poetry, and the act of writing, where I enjoy myself, is my favorite act, sometimes I am completing all my unfinished stories by writing whatever I cannot succeed.
Since I don't keep my word, and here I start to tell.
I wish I could categorize every emotion, every day, every defeat, and whatever is considered a mistake, of course, I am only wrong, so I am doing my duties in the world and myself in order not to mislead the whole world.
I have a fervent heart and moist eyes and an exuberant soul.
What is hidden in the loom of sadness, of course, thousands of words I put up for auction, believe those who love auctions, I live and love and write with my heart, but you see that the person I love can fall out of my hands and disappear easily, so the word comes back to me and whatever the subject is I stupidly blame myself.
The one whose tail is stuck.
However, while I have been on earth with my name and my body inside and out, of course, my essence, my word and my name, which I have remained faithful both in life and in writing.
A light leaking from my intuition says that I can sometimes sense the real intention of the other person and my sixth sense never deceives me, even though I didn't think it possible at first, yet a developing paranoia is yours, and I put myself on the dock even though I'm right, and I appoint both the judge and the prosecutor.
Whatever's wrong.
Also in addition.
The way the voice over and the world treated me as a suspect.
There is something indivisible.
Sometimes when I classify life as one hemisphere and writing as the other, and someone always pulls me by the collar.
Where is it that I belong?
Your sense of belonging that I question, on the other hand, is actually being questioned.
Of course, there are many unexplained troubles, more than private, only between me and God.
What goes unmentioned is the countless details that I have been attacked, and how people perpetuate such a conspiracy.
Happiness and loneliness are so relative.
When happiness makes you lonely.
Loneliness may be a source of happiness.
Happiness and loneliness, while two concepts that conflict with each other, are of course the most magnificent rewards I have written.
While hidden in every syllable, my forehead and tears and the light of my eyes are like boats in my heart.
I'm side down.
Or the one who takes my hand, the one who sidesteps.
I'm not counting those who look sideways, of course.
A humane quest, of course, the peace and passion of sharing, and a paradise that I have when I write whatever I can't do in life. Even if for a while, while I was writing, the ocean that grew inside me and all the sadness are erased and the words that gave seedlings are actually a great plane tree that I remember and lean on my back.
Colors and also: how noble and eye-catching.
An unruly wind sometimes changes lanes.
And here is the pleasantness of being a rebellious wind, emptiness for some.
A child stomping inside me and: ageless and ageless.
The wisdom of being human is that I started from a child and climbed hills and eventually reached myself, although I have always been hidden in myself, after writing, I have loved myself more consciously, and sometimes the troubles I have had due to what I have written and the ones that narrow the peace inside me and breathe the air outside.
There is a third side that I want to reach, starting from my humanity and faith in every sense, even though it seems difficult for me to reach that third side while my two sides have not come together yet, I have come a long way, you know, I saw the altitude on the sign.
I was already conditioned to my favorite difficult thing, because I am such a difficult person, that I do not like what is easy or I get bored quickly, maybe that's why I was thrown from branch to branch for a lifetime, especially in the professional sense, beyond changing jobs more than once, I received training in different professions ceaselessly and expired knowledge. I stored it and opened wings to other channels in my lower memory.
Literature is the sum of all.
Did I include my student ID?
Even though I stay ahead in the marathon in the teaching run, it is like a flame that goes out and of course I chose the easy one and I struggled in many subjects for a lifetime because I was not permanent in my first profession and my first job, and how true is it that I have passed the property of the world?
Especially in today's economic conditions, I don't regret a bit, you know, when I resigned from my job and did not end my search in a spiritual sense, the last channel I found myself in is literature, where I live and write.
Sometimes I am defeated and I run back.
While the possibilities and impossibilities of life, which are considered a virtue and sometimes turn into a torment, increase the level of this difficulty, I sometimes write my last article and say that I must end everything now.
I took a break for a short while, but while writing is in my blood, I can't stand it and sit down again, with an effort to shape a life at the table I'm actually sitting at, in that special bond I have formed with words in the presence of a spiritual transmission and an emotional trigger, sometimes I feel myself forming a web like a spider, sometimes I feel myself as a spider, with my untied hands and While my feet and tongue sometimes write like an insect caught in a net, I think about the benefits of this fire and the world I fell into, but I do not easily express the troubles I experience from time to time.
Whatever is left of yesterday does not stand still.
There are many troubles present in the moment: like everyone else or different from everyone else, and here I am weaving tomorrow under the heading of hope, I open my window to a day after the night by writing, actually, when I enter through that window again, maybe escape from myself and travel to myself again.
Every escape is actually a beginning
When it's endless.
While I sometimes want to end it and I can't help it.
I actually have two lives:
The life I live in.
And the life I live inside me by writing.
Although it seems cumulative, these two lives are not necessarily parallel.
Of course, the life that the pen takes advantage of.
That my life has also benefited from my pen.
Just as the people in my life were unaware of what I wrote in the world of literature and those who accompanied me on the way I wrote at work were aware of my life.
Sometimes I split.
Sometimes I die.
If I don't write, life stops and I live worse than death.
While this is possible with the difficulties in life.
And here is the third side that I am trying to reach, and I know that while I am an Istanbul girl, I know that my soul mate is Istanbul, and that third side that I want to reach the most, in any case, I declare my immunity.
As if it weren't enough, I love to pierce myself with a pencil, while an endless search is the address of an endless search and peace, in any case, where I find my Lord and myself.
