Footsteps in the hallway every evening
The phone I thought was ringing wrong
Wait for me, I will definitely come
This is not our first separation, nor is it our last.
I basted this love from my dreams, The edict of my beloved and free heart in the cage.
You are my wind.
You are my cry and my cry.
You are the survivability of a life that has been neglected and the delayed counter of happiness that I missed as much as I whistled.
Oh, my love.
Ah, my once conquered fortress.
Ah, the defeated woman and you are the wind inside me.
You are the woman and you are the sketch of the dreams that have gone to seed, I am deceived and bleed.
Oh, does one always bleed, does one always burn, or are you also the harvest in my soul?
My color is delusional.
My site is cherry rot.
Both my color and my inspiration, the woman I love...
Before you were a reproach and the siren that sounded incessantly in me: you are my city that I have knitted from dreams and you are a demon in your lust, you are my most innocent state.
I fell into this love once and you are in my heart and you are a separation that I can't digest.
A city ferry addicted to loneliness in its ignorance and to the city that I love.
Maybe my name, maybe the old gypsy who lost her pack.
You are my chin and my reservations.
You are ugly and beautiful, in fact, you are a love that never existed, you and the lover, and here I wear the badge of my heart, I winked at my poems and like the star of the north, at the loving moonlight.
Sadness is my reservation in my geography.
In my lofty solitude, your skinny shadow colors.
You are far from me.
I'm in the trap of love that I fell into.
Ferry of the heart.
The pale face of her.
A sharper slice in every fatwa issued.
Oh my dark words.
My principle.
It is the season in which I weave knot by knot and the garden of paradise hidden within me, where I fled far from the musty breath of the demon, the compass of my existence.
My lost identity and pale mood of the season that remained yesterday.
my position.
The murmur is the baby tabby in me.
Who am I, tell me?
You are the fairy of expired dreams and the spirit in me that I have informed, but I have turned into a fire thanks to me and my broken meter, your eyes are dear to me, this is an edict that I can never touch and my love that I am addicted to from afar.
I am a product of season, whereas I was born in June and hit the road in winters, the wintering person was actually a love that grew in the barracks inside me.
At first glance, love creates its own field of attraction with its compelling nature, which does not comply with any logic or formula, although it may seem analytical.
Human nature tends to complex things. Perhaps it is the nature of creation that creates this gravitational pull. So love is not just a literary term. He dominates physics, chemistry and even mathematics. No science exists alone. One is like interlocking rings connected to the other. Like compound sets in mathematics, the field of use in love is the common field.
Love is such a mess
God will destroy the heart he entered
Confuses the mind, lifts the soul
Can not brain risk analysis.
Man consists of a single group. That whole set is the whole of that person. When combined with another group, a small common area emerges, love is the meeting of two people with very different characteristics and meeting in that area.
Let's imagine that two clusters with the same characteristics represent two same people. And these features fill the entire set. Here we see that unification is not possible. In those clusters, there must be a small deficiency, a unity on the opposite side so that there is a union. Why do opposite poles attract? Because love is close to a phrase. There are people in the world that we are incomplete without, love is where we are glorious and find them. Two sets made for each other. The happiness that comes with making your life easier the moment you find it. An area that is missing when you can't find it.
The confusion of love is also a process that starts with finding it. The mind always thinking of a person who comes as a foreign substance that the heart does not accept. Or the mind's denial of this foreign substance that the heart accepts. Maybe that's why Love doesn't look for logic.
My yellow daisy.
My world illuminated in your dark eyes.
Thousands of fairy tales and novels that hold my hand in contrasting climates and that I have tinkered with, and you are my story that I could never write and that I stand close with my presence every night that allows me to be without me.
Did the poet lie?
Wait for me, I will definitely come
We will finish the movie we started together.
No matter what anyone says, I have a crazy feeling inside.
