I keep my human love even when it hurts

I am weighing my dreams, dear sir, because I am a dream magician and I hold them involuntarily, sometimes I sew up my tears when I stare at your heart, and sometimes I try to bring my two sides together after a great effort, but I cannot repair that broken temple inside me.

Sometimes I wrap myself in calico.

Sometimes I'm craving sponge cake, but I can't button it, otherwise I miss you every time I want to unbutton my jacket, but I can't make my stomach happy every time I feel bad.

I have tired fractures, I am very, very tired.

I'm ironing my fragile heart incessantly, and then don't you say to me:

You ironed my head.

Whenever I saw you, after all, did a person build a bridge between reality and dreams, and did a person become the wolf of another person...

Even if it exists, what would be the meaning of what I wrote if I didn't deliver my words to the wolf, which I presume to be a lamb, but know that; I never write blindly and I can't deny my feelings, but I can't deny that I'm incompetent, on the other hand, and every tear on my eyelashes is actually a rebellion of my mournful existence: May God forgive me, as long as it is…

The dynamic traffic inside me.

I'm not arrogant and I'm struggling like crazy in this adventure of writing, where I rediscover myself after spending my life.

It is dreams that make my journey in the universe permanent.

Are your feelings cast?

Or do they not know themselves with their ears?

Even though I run away from life and people, disappointments full of sadness always come and find me.

Like the roses falling from my face, which are never in a thousand pieces.

What's wrong with being a rose, especially when I'm prowling in the garden of paradise inside me and the beauties hidden around me will throw my star identity aside because of this, and when suddenly night falls and every time I raise my head to the sky after the smell of roses, I know that I belong there, after all, a God on earth. The servant of God did not accept and approve of my identity, and here is the fact that every time I meet with my Lord, I constantly remember Him and keep my prayers.

My color is pale pink today.

My color is way too crazy these days, I've been wandering around like lover with that vertigo that has not been missing lately, and there is no object that I am a satellite of.

My talkative temperament, which is considered incompatible, and someone taking me over before one of my troubles ends.

I always have a need to tell, and I have so many secrets, like a lost planet, from myself that I want to emigrate every time I discover myself, but there is neither a planet in the hidden universe that will host me better than me, nor a human being, and even though I am a kind-hearted and well-intentioned person. I must be rejected, whenever there is anyone I feel close to because of a friend, a confidant, a friend...

I'm guilty though.

Even though I am the only person who should be deemed innocent, I am guilty.

No matter where you turn from the wrong or the loss, it's a profit, isn't it?

But as a result of the cruelty and suffering I have inflicted on myself for a lifetime, let's see if my life will be enough for me to love myself more.

Sometimes I take the square root of the multiples of the people I love, then I do a deep analysis of my soul.

My brother always makes fun of me-dear he is me.

If you think about death so often, my sister, should you work in the cemetery directorate?

Well, I love the dead.

I will never be harmed by them, and when did it come?

Many people immigrated suddenly, even my late father, maybe if he had lived today, I would not have loved and understood him so much.

A crazy thought maybe, but…

After all, living people can hurt me much more deeply, but no matter what, I need people. Look, what came to my mind?

I'm not human, but I am.

It has been a long time since the day I made this confession to my aunt.

It is neither human nor unmanned.

I still preserve my love for humanity, but now I am wiser: I love from afar and deeply, even when the addressee is unaware of anything.

It shouldn't be a bad thing either.

Some backbite after another, and some like me silently and do not miss out on their prayers.

And the issue of the living dead.

Even though I still cannot forget that night when I was on the verge of suicide and the Divine Power overcame me, while all my loved ones who left me were walking ahead with their feet, while suffering considerable pain in their own selfish worlds, I still cannot forget that night, but it is only thanks to my Lord that I reach the morning safely.

I've had worse than that, especially in the last few months:

Do people get poisoned out of nowhere?

It is possible, especially when I took the antibiotic that I needed to take twice a day and I repeated it for four days and realized after it was too late that I was poisoned.

Even writing this article today is a miracle and healing, again and only my Almighty Lord.

The next day I inherited the drowsiness that diminishes its effect.

While I was just reading Kafka, I couldn't help but ask myself:

Is it not yet time to write a letter to Kafka again?”

Let the man sleep peacefully in his grave, of course, thanks to this close dialectic communication I have established with the dead, I can have a new profession, after all, I am in touch with my harmless dead friends, like a cemetery keeper.

Is he immune to human suffering?

It's possible, sir.

After being subjected to the heaviest accusations at this juncture in a life that I was regretfully condemned, I think I managed to make fun of myself a lot...

Especially since I was a little overweight when I was a kid, did you witness the first insults of my life and lose forty kilos on top of it?

I can not say that I am a kind climate.

But the wind inside me is only against me, and how it blows in the wrong way sometimes, and on top of that, did people resent me?

On the other hand, I am running only to my Lord, and every time I open my hands, I read mercy to the accompanying tears, and I know that he never leaves me alone anyway, yet I say that loneliness is only for God and greet people from far, far away and whenever I go to their relatives...

I love my existence.

My existence is sometimes a burden.

When I think of my Lord, who gave me my existence and gave me this soul...

I am grateful for every moment, every situation, but the factor called human makes me so suspicious that especially if it is related to myself and when it comes to me that I am redundant, some thoughts are, after all, every day, someone either goes away or if they are close to me, it turns me off.

Having trouble is for everyone, but I've learned that there is a climate of people who don't want to listen to troubles in the hidden world, and since I don't have the ability to act, I dive straight into the subject and whoever is next to me naturally gets bored and runs away.

That's why I haven't been away from life for a lifetime?

Then didn't I dive into people for a while?

Didn't I take a nose-to-nose training with hundreds of psychologist candidates on the same campus, supposedly to discover myself and the universe, after my years working at the bank?

Then, of course, I left that place in order to keep my remaining mind hidden.

Leave.

Press resignation.

It's a feeling that satisfies me, so in my bullshit career, I've always been the one to resign, whenever they hurt me.

I worked many jobs. Secretarial, interviewing, marketing, shop assistant. I resigned from all of them. I've always loved quitting. Just my style. Resigning would have made me feel very noble. I think everyone should resign at least once so gloriously. I advise.

I've also worked in many jobs: banking, teaching, translator, administrative assistant and most recently a student.

I resigned from all of them.

I wouldn't recommend this to anyone.

But I will never quit humanity and love, mister, and hope.

While I live with sadness and my soul is fed by pain, my body is insignificant: even if it goes hungry, you know.

Do not think that it writes out of nowhere and I love it.