I hold the tally of postponed dreams and gnaw the fingers of the poem.
My magical world: while we were waiting on the sill of the night, we met you and at work.
I had a lot to tell once, but now I'm in the wheelhouse, maybe loneliness is a makeshift paradise I perched in: oh, me and my desk and my chair where I squatted, tell me where can I find this comfort?
Of course, the first code of my locked heart is on the way I set off as hope, and while someone whispers in my ear:
"Forget, just forget..."
Someone who has made it his duty to be forgotten should try to forget, but my past, which I waved goodbye to and from afar, and the remaining crumbs of friendship and all my friends stuck in the dusty pages of history...
My mind is stuck, my soul is stuck.
My color is necessarily pink and blue.
You have a crystal lantern in your hand, you filled it with colorful marbles. The lantern is your literary personality, and the marbles are your original and artistic combinations. The marbles are so many that the sun behind the bell is not visible. The marbles, which cannot receive light as they are not visible, do not shine. However, if you leave some space, the marbles will reflect colorful lights every time they move. It will bring peace and joy to the viewer.
Yes, I am the daughter of darkness, what I love the most is the silence of the nights, there are still noises that I ignore, oh, I was always ignored and here I fell, even though my head fell forward before I hit the road again, once in that sublime love.
And my peace is the last adventure of my fugitive mind: you know, from where you look, I have been holding on to peace for two hours and diving into the void again before two hours are up, but every time I take a pen in my hand, I reach for the arms of beauty and are far away from the endless shadows, especially in the sweat called day.
Daughter of the house: very funny because this is a house of a girl.
The lady of the house, of course, my mother, of course, my share of being a lady, I am specialized in everything except housework, and I live in the house of a girl with a diploma, in fact, there are many different worlds I live in, and my feelings are at least specialized in brewing tea, of course, I am also drinking.
When my path crossed with sadness after a whole life that I wish to be a regular in peace.
In the bosom of the night when I added hope and declared my freedom, it's almost like a nightlight, the eyes of a pen are stuck with me. Of course, the first thing that comes to my mind is the Nobel Prize-winning author. At the beginning of my love for writing, I would be lying if I said that writing was very boring when I read his essays.
As the author emphasizes, the experienced writer, who wanders all day long in his office to write, says exactly this in one of his discourses:
“I consider myself lucky if I write half a page all day. It is possible that I have written long texts, I immediately tear the paper, of course, I unplug my phone during working hours when I am writing.''
Even though I have seen that this routine and boring work, which is not very attractive in the world of literature, where I jump headlong without knowing how to swim, because I do not have a choice to be included in this cycle that I consider a very scary and boring whirlpool, I did not follow a similar path with the author, especially if I saw that writing. As an amateur writer at the very beginning, I was not sure that I would continue, as someone who thought of quitting many times.
Whichever way you look at it, if we take into account the ten hours spent creating a half-page text a day, it was not possible for me to comprehend how he wrote so many novels and essays.
My dream climates, of course, while I was living with a dream, I fell into a dream and not from the loves you know, you know, when I was my first love, my dear grandmother and my only primary school teacher, then my love for books and knowledge, and then I fell in love with my profession and then I fell in love with my profession, and I went to the edge of the abyss and went to the edge of the abyss. my joy of life, which I found myself writing on the way and reinforced with my love of writing when it was my turn.
Eight years have passed since I was acquainted with the act of overwriting, I can never attribute a title such as a writer or a poet to myself, especially in everything I do with an amateur spirit and while seeing my life as a playground, I wrote three or five pages on a fact that I dressed and shaped my emotions like play dough. he is happy with me.
I must also say that I felt guilty about his novels because I couldn't make it to the end after I started to read many of the Nobel Prize winner's books. Of course, many authors and their works. Sometimes I read, sometimes waiting to be read.
But beyond that, there is a lot waiting to be written, especially not with my extraordinary temperament and my dilemma-laden existence, but while it doesn't fit my day to day, from moment to moment, I find something to write based on one or a few emotions that I concentrate on during the day, of course, what I wrote to be worthy of my dear reader. more than anything else, it should appeal to the heart and soul.
With my student identity, I love this world as I learn so many things from every different person every day, especially as a person who broke away from life ten years ago, I thank my Lord for opening this last door for me.
