I freed my heart to make up for lost time

I took refuge in my pen and blank page in order to lighten the burden of the day I brewed after the tea I drank calmly, like the light that rains on the horizon of the seasons of regret and love.

My wit.

I am speechless.

My soul.

My reckless heart.

My cheerful temperament.

If I am emulated, I am myself again.

And the rhythm of my being, the altitude of loneliness, I rush from numbers to wandering sentences.

Uncertainty from climates.

Divine than love.

The world I'm on, my wings flying and the pitch black night, I'm swimming in a cup of coffee, of course, pain, of course, pain, of course, my feelings, of course, pain, of course, my feelings are loaded with caffeine, enthusiasm in my blood, pendulum outside, a sad smile on my face.

The square root of sadness and the cracked vein of the demon.

The jewel I know, of course, is the universe hidden in my velvet heart. If I am in love with the Creator, I am his wife, I am the roof of my pen, the expression of my other temperament, the experience of the world, your innocence, my tidy words and my nature who bestowed upon me when I was my Lord.

I don't have one story, I have thousands.

There is no servant of God that I imitate, or the pendulum in my temperament while I lead a life that I take as a role model and never pretend to be, and here I am, escaping from the veil of the night.

I'm on the forefront of words.

I take a position to the angels on my shoulder and they are smiling at me. The sky has just thundered and I know whether there is a stick of God or not, sometimes I think about the past, sometimes I ignite the fire I fell into, sometimes my heart is crushed, while I stand on my feet with my words and my estranged heart.

The writings are a footnote.

If there is no preface, then there is still time to say the last word of life and I signed the contract with the huge tailed cloak I signed, I ask God for a plush toy, and I know that my room is stuffed with them, sometimes ten packs and hundreds of books, and I know that this is the last thing I started to write with the laziness of reading. Looking back at my ten years...

My heart is big.

My heart is alone.

My heart is in my mouth.

My heart is my temple.

My heart is noble.

My heart is my steep slope.

My heart is what makes me different.

My heart is my prayer rug.

My heart is never heavy.

My pure heart and what I keep pure.

Maybe I'm after you, I'm after your beauty and the beauty of my heart that makes me beautiful...

What, is it a lie?

The world's most oppressed, innocent heart, which has adopted the motto of loving for a lifetime, is of course mine, while my Lord bestowed my head on love.

I am a noble wind.

Sometimes I'm a somersault bird.

The sky dome and sill of my heart window and what I learned from my mother is the presentation of her teachings to me and the first thing I learned about my Lord from him and I loved my Lord and my mother first.

My heart has big wings.

My heart has an unstoppable sadness.

I did not wish to be oppressed, but since I have my share and my sad heart is the virtue of being a good servant in the eyes of the Lord, which I am certainly accepted as the only one, I love and live with sincerity.

That I lived and grew and lived without hesitation.

If I have a story, it also has sub-branches, and my subject is love, my verb is to love, and thousands of feelings and sentences in my inner life that I love and write and write and finally open my heart to myself and the child in me in order to make up for the lost time.

The peace of being a believer.

The rage of being oppositional.

The emotions that I correspond to and the sky that I skipped, and here I am turned into a bird and I look at those who live with complacency and backbiting. Here I am far away from evil, darkness and the black night I was put in, but my face is facing the peace of day and love and here is the peace of faith.

How many wicked mourners around me.

I have a lower floor, an upper floor, and a roof and a basement, and they are making huge prophecies in front of me, although I do not like oracles, I always stay away from dark spirits and all I fall for is the sound of distant love calling me.

The old woman is lamenting.

Another one sighs.

If he is a poet: he is talking about the pear tree.

Another is letting yourself go.

Where am I hiding?

Of course inside of me, of course outside.

I am in the womb of love, and while I am love, I wink at the dawning night of the central universe, and the Divine Light and Divine Wind never leave me.

There are tangential pains and angles…

There are people I can't name, but I don't say a word to the whispers and sarcastic smiles I hear, I just take shelter in my Lord.

I'm not the only one suffering.