I'm on the downside. I am the isotope of love, my hair and my choices, which are loaded with loyalty that I knit with the season and dreams. A painful love, maybe mine, while the whirling dervishes are hidden in my heart, the cries of the day and the old songs and the forgotten women and memories in a corner.
An expression of everything I praise.
Some call out after someone:
You did well.
Even though I stay away from common terms, people are writhing inside me, words and slang are making judgments.
That's what it would be. He deserved death.
Someone pats someone on the back or backbites behind their back, while I stare at the horizon, waiting with stability and love: someone I love is an unknown and unseen enthusiasm, and my inner voice is troubled, and the external voice gives it to the busy.
A call makes my heart tremble.
A fate is likely.
On the other hand, I iron the day and I think about my feelings and to resemble someone most of all, even if I try for a while and I mess up.
This can't be me.
I give up within the framework of self-respect and love, and I lay out my feelings that I did not pass, I look at the blank white page and with empty eyes, while I say the tears are pouring and I lean my head on my mother's chest.
I am addicted to sadness and love.
Stages of love:
It's the past tense.
The wind blowing inside me:
What about now?
Sometimes I come and go like a yo-yo, sometimes my emotions are like dominoes. I must pass.
I'm going to my university years and I'm in my last year, of course I'm at the beginning of a new life and I do my best. Finally, my school ends with a degree and Bingo.
My mood and emotional scheme: not only is it the route of a life that I will never forget, but perhaps only a few years of difficult years that I will never forget, and I was on the eve of starting a job in a gigantic plaza with my first exam and the high grade I got from the assistant specialist exam of a private bank, and it took months for my father to go. While his days are numbered and my father is struggling for life in the intensive care unit, I sleep uninterruptedly in my bed and my dreams and career opportunities that have escaped me.
If I'm going to give a break, it's here.
I am getting rid of the gallows I was hanging on and I am embracing a new dream in my fatherless life.
The possibility of being a new me never comes to my mind and I perform my duties one by one.
I am a man of duty:
Within the framework of social law and oppression and custom…
I make a so-called fast start to business life, and I also fire the seers who come to the house and take revenge on yesterday's life by emulating the migratory birds.
With a painful scream.
A loving heart, however, I am not in contact with an external voice as much as I shut myself up.
The years I cut prejudice and the pains without a nationality.
I took flight.
The school road that I skipped from the bank and the silence I skipped from there, the world of Literature where I blinked and beamed.
During the last eight or nine years, when I was a quiet ordinary reader and wrote relentlessly in order to be a quiet ordinary writer, the burning letters I wrote to myself and the world, and the happiness I got from the edge of the corner, sometimes when I was just a movie frame, I filled my thirst like a flower blooming in the desert with the ink of my pen. I fixed…
A self data.
A prejudice.
Maybe the foreword of my life.
While I focus on the last word, sometimes I know and I want, of course, sample shadows and numerical claims, and sentences that sound like socks ripping sometimes burn me so deeply that it is not the veil of being excluded in the life I resent, on the contrary, I love with stability and more than I have ever, while loving love most of all. and shaken hands with the mad wind in my soul.
And yes, I am a wind, more enthusiastic than it has ever blown, which refreshes the heart and moreover, while hidden in my flying hair, butterflies and every butterfly have memorized like my own child, while hanging my own sentences in my heart one by one, perhaps causing me to be crazy and enthusiastic beyond appearances. instead of telling this, my whole being is matched with the sentences that at least correspond to the wind of my pen, which I chose to blow.
