My diary was written short on these dates. Then, in about two months, there were nonsense expressions. I also read these bullshit, but I was bored because it wasted time. At one point I thought to stop reading the diary. I said let me take it to the cave. I did not do this because he was curious about my past life. Because when I scrolled through the pages, I saw that there were more to be read. Maybe I could find what you're looking for on these pages.
The murmurs came first. It was nature's murmur. Then the sky darkened, sullen frowning clouds captured the sun. The wind came to the rescue of the sun, but for now it was not enough. Clouds literally crashed into the sky. Ahead, far ahead, a light shone. Lightning. A moment later it thundered. The light shone again, this time everything was different from the roar; the sky was almost split. He was afraid of the fiery lightning; Because fire is greedy, expansive, fast, contagious, cheeky, and it is the one that identifies everything it burns.
My Years to Live - Poetry
We live four seasons every year,
Sometimes we just give the other one a season,
Sometimes we wander between these seasons,
One foot of the seasons is always at the door with the experiences,
The sad story of every season, which is the subject of the writings,
The seasons are the guardians of loneliness in the patience stone.
The human soul is the universe of endless negativity seasons,
Our choices are the mystery behind our truth,
It's as if we keep turning like seasons in a thousand maneuvers,
True happiness does not necessarily depend on someone else,
A flood of emotions that flows only within one's own,
Our responses to what has been done are the effects of the seasons.
It could rain at any moment. How weak are water drops when taken individually; when combined, there are instances where their power has no limit. Flood waters flood roads, drag trees, destroy homes; sea waves sink huge ships.
He returned to the hostel and went to his room. He listened to the howling wind on the windowsill. This sound reminded him of monster tales he listened to in his childhood. How scared he was, he thought that these monsters would hug his throat while he was sleeping. That's why he would pull the quilt over his head. Of course, he would be squeezed by sweat, he would hardly breathe under the duvet, but he still couldn't give up on that.
The wind first wants to make its presence felt by groaning and whining; In order to express itself better, it sometimes turns into a storm by increasing its intensity and roaring. Let's see if he would be what he expected. It didn't work, he also slept; he would try, though early to sleep. Amazed! He fell asleep quickly.
He woke up, yawned, stretched, rubbed his eyes with his right hand, then sat down on the bed, the duvet fell off the bed, he was too lazy to bend over. It just stood there for a few minutes.
It went back years and years. She remembered those eyes with a deep gaze, sad and quiet, thin lips and black eyebrows. Where was he now, what was he doing? "Never mind, what is it to me! No matter what he does. Why should I wonder about a female who poisoned me? " she said; She said she said, but she felt like a numb, lifeless, motionless object; rigid.
He gave a slap in the face, and he started to grunt because pain from his kidneys was making him writhing. Despite this, he jumped out of bed as if he was in a hurry, got dressed, washed his hands and face, and went downstairs like a run. She was going to have breakfast. The glasses, plates, and other items on the table seemed odd to his eye; It had been odd inside, too, perhaps it was a sweet vertigo; therefore it was unnecessary to enlarge. Kidney pain continued.
He took the diary after breakfast and left the hostel. Today he would rest the car, walk around the town on foot. First he searched for a park like in the other town. It was too small for him to find it. There were only five benches to sit on, and four of them were occupied. He sat down on the empty one. Birds were chirping, a normal day. He looked at the street that passed by the park; Most of the people were in a hurry, and those who did not have a job were keeping up with this hasty fashion, or rather imitating others without realizing it, thinking that they had to keep up.
The man sitting on the nearest bench caught his attention, and across the street was a young lady who had trouble walking in high heeled shoes. The man has a beak-like nose, two hazel eyes of different sizes, a skin like rabbit skin, hair that reminds of a hedgehog, ears that are smaller than the head, a ragged dress on his back. He grabs the cigarette that is about to burn his lips with two fingers, takes it from his mouth and throws it a few meters away. He is too lazy to turn his head and look at the clatter of the high heeled lady. His hand goes to the water bottle in his jacket pocket, he drinks carefully and slowly, sip a few. He seems to be afraid of running out of water. As a matter of fact, after drinking a few more sips, he brings the bottle to eye level and looks carefully.
That girl came to your eyes again. An age-old exuberance was not amenable to a frenzy, but what about the opposite feelings! He sought a secluded place and wanted to rest and hide; Where could he find a more secluded place than here! He had to get rid of this woman by fighting with his soul. He had tried it over and over again in vain. As for what the girl said, "Am I a tough and ruthless man?" he asked himself. He heard a nice saying, "You're not", that was his voice. He had a mysterious charm, his heart wanting to come out every time he pressed him to his chest. This woman did not fit into her imagination, she was carrying it. She regretted leaving her. If he did that, he would make an arrogant scoundrel and a slightly chapped man. Or was he such a person?
