I don't have a color yet but everybody says I'm white

It starts from the ends of my hair, no more breakage

I taste the words

I accidentally swallow bitter words whose poison I fear.

Is it the charm of your life, you know, the entrance of the garden where mimosas are entwined and thousands of buds spread over me; I breathe the rebellion of the flying pollen inside and I sneeze, if it is in the language of poetry, if the turmoil inside me is also the gigantic conflict of the life I am trapped within my four walls, and here is my only shelter: first God, then my mother.

I haven't shrouded my dreams yet, and I am constantly giving birth to dreams, whereas I am still as vulnerable and innocent as a small child, and I am being tested with fortitude, but sometimes I don't let go, I fit my acumen into a tiny jar, and I don't exist in the universe of my heart.

In my absence and presence, I am still trying to enjoy life for people in the playground inside me.

If it is to hold on to a place, to hold on to dreams.

I swallowed yellow cent in my childhood and I recognized every marble as a friend and I never skipped a stone even once in my life, after all, I was forbidden to play and be happy as much as life allows, until the day I discovered myself.

It's not the ones I suffer, it's the ones I never complain about.

The beauties that I deserve move away as I get closer.

There are those who call me from afar, but I call and dry it like a dead creek bed.

It is the cold wall I was nailed to, but I can even make a wall laugh thanks to the charlatan child in me.

It doesn't, though.

The stage is not filled.

Turning pages is my share and here is my victory!

I don't want to get a well-done, moreover, I just want to present the power of love to people, and that's why I write and cry, I love and my heart hurts.

It's like a feast, my time to meet with a pen.

I spend a festive hour or two making love with a pen and breaking my silence by writing, but I don't talk much about love because every person who realizes my love goes far away, and they don't expect me to send them away. Moreover, they steal my dreams and flee from the planet inside me, sensing that the love of which I am a satellite is smiling at me insidiously and I am also ashamed for pronouncing love. Of course, it is obvious that I developed a paranoia, moreover, the constant paranoia I experienced in my childhood...

It's a summer time.

Not to mention the songs that I couldn't even read and read, and listened to the tape recorder all day and memorized it all day, until I asked my mother what the meaning of that song I couldn't decipher, and the song is still in my ears:

Greater than love, more than love.

My color is pink and embarrassed.

Just one syllable.

Just one word.

Moreover, I did not know that he would be a lifelong companion to me.

What is love really?

It's not a question he's familiar with, and he looks at me with embarrassment:

I love you beautiful girl.

And he rushes into the kitchen.

I, on the other hand, am happy and surprised, but I don't feel like a wolf, and here is my first acquaintance with love.

While my eyes are big and I taste a glass of lemonade and lemonade in my hand, I understand the weather; This one syllable is going to be a lot of work on my own.

The grace and grace of love.

It's definitely love from the days.

Spring rather than seasons.

My miserable first aid toys and imaginary playmates.

Is love a criterion?

Am I an extension of love?

I fall in love with almost every person and every object that accompanies my life one after the other.

A huge mercy and I will find love the most while loving my Lord and questioning myself with an ever-growing momentum.

It's not a summary about love.

To live in love itself.

I don't have a color yet, but everybody says I'm white.

Should I not go out to the garden to catch the red butterflies flying in my hair and a butterfly?

However, I am chasing my dreams and in my gaming age I dream more and get imaginary professions.

Thousands of memories hidden in almost every moment of my life.

One nuance is to live.

Or a damp room and wall.

And whoever he is, he should live and let love live on the living earth.

A trending word: subjective and specific.

Which has quality, but today, the quantity is important.

Maybe it's a feeling that I can't measure with money and stamps and that I reimburse for the infinity of dreams, especially when I've taken over banking with love and without the need for a provision.

Even if it is considered a childish whim.

What's more, it is the pleasure and enthusiasm that killing my soul when I was a child and living out of breath and loving it with the joy and enthusiasm that accompanied me at every stage of my life.

Eat your grapes and don't ask about your vineyard...

That's why I never accepted, my mouth is not even open, moreover, I am hungry, but I feed my soul with love with pure feelings.

Every emotion, every awareness that I am a foundation of.

Engaging in flying on the protective wings of love, accompanied by enthusiasm.

My excitement never ends.

Sometimes the delusions don't fade.

It is not in the real world, moreover, it is not at all.

Love is a lifesaver.

Love is a life jacket.

Love is sometimes a nightmare.

In the eyes of reinforcing feelings, love is actually the code of life and the universe.

While it is never such a shallow feeling to stay between two people, the familiar feeling of love and sometimes longing, sometimes longing, sometimes impossibility, hurts so much…

And here is love while living and feeling fully in every lane of life that I participate with love as much as I live with love.

While a person or many people are afraid of love and being loved a lot, maybe the biggest mistake I make is that I find myself thanks to love, while I approach many people with love. Countless emotions and impossibilities that I have now, when I was a person who would live with the resentment, disappointment and regret that I experienced, which I could not hold on to life, of course, and I was the only person who deserved love, and I was the only one standing punishment for the injustice I did to myself...

As the poet and the wind blowing from far away, where your search never ends, whispered in my ear:

It is my testament.

Choose from the strongest

who will carry me

May I have a throne,

So that their burdens may become heavy,

I will stomp in my coffin…

Just as at the moment and for a lifetime, my will that I insist on life as love and keep it to symbols, and my values ​​that I never compromise with the preface of the novel of my life, as well as my loneliness.