Life Without You Is Getting Harder Every Day

What dream was my past, and in what garish pain had I grown and matured?

While my colors, sometimes cherry bruise, or that noble gray in my school uniform, I wished to be a rebel and failed, at least I lived and loved people with my rebellious heart, while the pendulum in me was the dilemma of a lifetime, and I always spelled humanity and love.

I dried my dreams and hung them on the balcony rope.

Then I tinkered with my childhood and fictionalized happiness, my best man memorized the phrase father and every mother and father in it.

I have an untouched self and memory, and my existence and decaying dreams have never been my interlocutor, in fact, I was not the addressee when the interlocutor was the guardian of everything and every noble feeling, not of loneliness.

My father.

Did you hear this day or the rose tree that is shaped inside you as it always is, and you always smiled at me, you always loved me, "Rose Girl," but since it hurt for the first time and you said a son whose path you were waiting for, you added your endless love to my name, actually was the architect of a love that would shape my life.

You have crossed paths for a lifetime.

You helped the children in the four corners of my country, and you were only seventeen years old, your noble profession as a teacher and what a sweat you left us.

What is money, dad?

But property and property.

Since people do not need anyone, the real issue is of course the honorable surname you left and your children that you can't even resist kissing.

I'm in a dream warehouse tonight.

I am aware of the facts, especially when I do not understand what the heart's eye is, my Lord has given me this awareness, my existence, which has been considered pure since my childhood, thank God, what I write to you is still the performance of remaining innocent.

There are words, father: there are words that I cut with blood.

The tears that come from my heart when I dress my bloodshot eyes, but my head is so straight, how could I even stand up to you, especially in my student years, although I obeyed every order and prohibition you said and applied, but I never spared my words.

My identity, father.

Sometimes I am filled with hijab.

However, neither delirium nor rebellion is the love where my enthusiasm peaks with my generally excited presence and I am addicted to it, isn't it always that love that got me into trouble?

You know, there are secrets hidden in the world and far away from the evils in the world, but people are always caught, of course, things that are not spoken in the first place, and sometimes I report them, thanks to your pen.

I get offended sometimes.

Sometimes I get very embarrassed.

There are so many people that I can't directly say that I love them, I think I'm already in a structure that can be called backward in such an age.

I grew up in silence.

And I enlarge the whole world and people in my eyes.

I don't know what to say to whom while it corresponds to a tiny speck, so I have been clinging to the pen nonstop for the last eight years, and I've been performing one by one, but some of what goes through my mind.

It is never love that counts today, and how did I come to know the value of all the values ​​you and my mother instilled, especially in the last few years, when I question where I belong or not, I always question my sense of belonging, Dad.

First of all, I am addicted to my destiny and my destiny, and the teachings that I would give my life for, of course, even though I have been sternly warned by you, I am happy with my situation, especially my fellow countrymen, who I do not resemble, and even though I am a simple and correct person, I am always questioned and somehow under suspicion. my stay.

I have dreams that are not quoted, my father, and unfortunately each one was stolen one by one. Will I be idle? Of course, I travel in this world where I dream new dreams and create for myself with my pen, sometimes with pity, sometimes with love, sometimes with enthusiasm, and sometimes with a bottomless sadness.

So many people have left after you.

I'm not even counting the previous ones.

On the other hand, I went away from myself many times and came back to myself and I am trying to protect my original, of course, on the way you show and in the light of your principles, I ruthlessly lay myself on the table and beat myself up so much that while you can't stand me, I do worse and I don't let anyone pass through the walls I have erected, and from afar and silently. I love people.

I am a native of your dreams and your love.

I am so excited that I cannot deny it, but sometimes my light, my suddenly fading power and energy are such that I distract myself so much from time to time that I want to take shelter in the shadow of a plane tree. And I'm holding on to the few people I love and trust, and knowing that I was wrong, I beg forgiveness to anyone I've offended.

That's what love is like, father, matching with the feeling of trust, and after I spill what I have inside, this time I'm burning with regret.

A creek bed, maybe where I left my heart fallow.

The love that grows in barren lands.

While it was respectability and care before, it is important because it is a being that must be respected before people love me, so I protect and live my respect: this is why I draw my limits in order to be considered both respected and respected, and sometimes I stretch them, but this time I regret and shut myself up again.

What is difficult?

It is very difficult for me to express this, father, because you are absent, but I exist before. I have values ​​that presented me to me before, I have feelings that I cannot name, so I just want time from my God because I am an unfinished story, father: I set out with you and now I am alone and feel myself. While you are trying to protect it, know that nothing and no person is as it seems, while you have raised me in a strict and disciplined way because you already know this.

There are so many things to remember, and of course it's so painful, this is not easily expressed, but I just want it to be a story that I have fictionalized, but I know life is not a fiction, moreover, I am aware that life is not fiction and I am not giving my turn to anyone, but I just try to stay on my route, maybe I will not be able to be happy for a lifetime Believe me, I try too hard and often punish myself in the most severe way, while inflicting more harm on myself than other people can do.

I am a dreamer, perhaps more than anyone can think of, but it is obvious that I am real, and I deceive myself from time to time while I know the reasons for the facts.

While it is important to hold on to life and one's own self as much as I bleed, and of course to the people I love and trust.

While life is getting more and more difficult every day and it means that I am a difficult person, the boundaries I draw for myself with my thorns and the difficulty of being a flower that I refuse to open with my crazy temperament, after all, there is no other me but me, and my daughter you left still tells me even if most people get angry. No one but me can be so angry and hurt me.

I miss you so much.