Images of My heart like a weary traveler
I am at the end of the Gregorian calendar.
Science, the republic of pain, the title of the sky is hidden in the hands of love and in it.
Maybe it's an enigma that has been smashed, sometimes with a vaveyla that pauses while loving, and sometimes goes out like a candle while going crazy with anger.
The secrets recorded in the budget of the cantor and we, the keeper of the winter, shivering with cold, are waiting at the ready as we move towards the end of the cantor.
The extinguishing temperament of your climate.
Speeches like a mare horse.
Pendulum broken unknown.
Your spiritual substance is forbidden and unnecessary.
While the tense skin of the universe is the fear that sometimes stretches the universe, a glance that freezes the moment for perhaps the most trivial reasons, and here is the cover of the mystery hidden in the fatwa inspired by the recurrent darkness, while we are suffering from the beginning of life, we humans have succumbed to the fear of tiring and lost time.
Is a smile fading on your face the prisoner of your love?
Are your images a weary heart traveler?
We are saying goodbye to the full moon on the roof of the star cluster, which is perhaps not yet filled, and here we are, saying goodbye to November. We both greet December at the door and boycott it.
A riot of colors.
People who lose an intense potion, sometimes an intense longing and weary words, their dreams have already stopped, at least because I haven't been able to dream for a long time, I can't put happiness in my temperament.
The last few months of my life when I was content with dreams.
My dream world when the dream boat of the past that I remember was filled with water and suddenly sank.
On rough ground, rough roads, perhaps the highest mountain I want to climb on, but with my slouching on the slope, I just stare at the highest and loudest voice, calling out to the child who disappeared inside me.
Dead birds are in my hidden bag.
My wings are broken and bleeding.
I don't even feel like being deceived anymore, and I'm crying with empty eyes and I'm wasting my share and I fill the emptiness in my unfilled heart with painful memories.
Even if it doesn't mean yesterday.
What is my mind still stuck in yesterday, because I couldn't come across a hidden beauty in the day?
Large tables set.
Sunday breakfasts.
In the temperament of yesterday, I am building dreams on top of my fidgety dreams with the excitement of seeing a good movie at the weekend matinee, perhaps visiting friends we went to as a family.
So it is.
After the movie is over, the continuation of the movie comes in my imagination and I am the happiest movie hero in the world, moreover, at my young age, I know and feel that love is the most amazing enigma.
I either have a favorite or not. What difference does it make? I'm in love with my dreams and my dreams.
Famous film actors and my newly learned English work, and I write page-by-page letters to countless actors, with their signed pictures that reach my address months later, and three or five lines of notes.
I am not even fifteen, but I knead my heart in the infinity of dreams:
My dream is to become the most favorite and loved student of the school.
That I take part in an abstract painting and that I believe and even believe that I love my school and my classmates incredibly and that I am loved so much.
My days, months and years are full of them.
It doesn't even cross my mind that anyone will betray me.
Whereas I am a faint pawn that writes the edict of love, I even dream of becoming a famous pianist while I play the same piece over and over on my upright piano on the ivory keys and finally memorize the notes with my fingers.
Then my high school choir diary.
I love music and singing too: most of all I love to be an integral part of the group and I believe I am.
So much so that I am sure that I will never leave my classmates, and the incredible attitude I put on at the end of high school when I say that the years go by quickly, of course, both the poplar winds are blowing in my head and I am working with the dream of being a good lawyer, although I do not slack off in the university exam, you know, and it comes and goes badly. It's the day of the exam and I make the first mistake of my life. I make a bad choice and place a profession that I never belonged to in the center of my life and on the exam preference form.
There is something going on and time is progressing.
Almost everyone in the classroom settles in one place, and here the tail of the calf breaks off that day.
I break away from everyone I think I will not leave, maybe I am forced to break up.
How maybe my closest friends are being thrown away, maybe the defense mechanism is the wheel of life and I understand that; I believe that we have built solid friendships, and almost everyone has maintained their friendship with me in line with their interests.
One or two people I don't break with, and in our shaky relationship with them, the talk comes back to me and to a game the whole class plays on me.
It has been more than twenty years and I am only just beginning to realize that I am not so important to my classmates.
What I believe I built when I was happiness in my dream world, moreover, I know a truth that is at the center of my life...
And the movie breaks.
In other words, the end of the movie disappoints me with an unexpected result.
The dilemma of love.
The heavy burden of being loving.
Worse still, when my fragility and sensitive point has turned into an amusement for people.
While November and November are getting tighter, the sadness is over, and this is the first time our house will be so quiet this New Year's Eve.
There are those who go.
Going and returning from time to time.
There are those who are gone, and moreover, they never existed.
There are also going.
That everything that is possible has come of age.
My dream boat has sunk so deep that it will never be able to rise to the surface, as long as I can be the old me again.
While everything that wears out and most of my dreams have been scrapped...
Would it still be obvious?
