Handkerchiefs in the hands of my feelings. They fell from a desolate heart. Blood is dripping on the discolored collar of my feelings. A thin ache on his left side.
I am walking in an indescribable void. On the ladder of life, I was clinging to the side branches; sometimes they were in my hands, sometimes they were new born shoots stuck in my hands.
Was it the hardest thing to be human, to have a heart?
To stumble on the paths, to burn in the sun. Burning outside when cooling inside, burning inside when cooling outside.
Being thrown into the water without a bagel in the center of his age.
Beavers are gnawing at my brain as the day rolls over. I'm one step closer to death, one more step have I given up on my hopes.
It was ruined, but my dreams would come out from the blind spot he found. Now I'm pruning one by one.
I took on the struggle of being good and useful. (After half of my life while I was trying for myself too) The river is flowing in the opposite direction.
I opened my window a little today. Your poems waiting on the low table, your clearing notes. I don't know if they are out of breath my words. There is a stagnation in their situation. Pens are scattered, books are waiting for their guests. Last day of spring. Sadness is wandering on the walls of my room. My stubborn tea is in the same place every day. It doesn't give its place to anyone.
I did not neglect the food of the birds. How loyal, yet so timid.
My branches are left. The sun cut off the foot power. Useless now.
How hard it is to be a human being. Especially to be able to stand upright while on the way to being a good person.
It's not that people don't expect anything in return for the favor I've done.
What was the motto of being human, if interests were multiplying like a virus, and my phone, which hadn't been ringing for months, was stolen because of the work?
What features were clothed in our souls when it was created.
Why are the curtains so thick? Why is the color of consciences blacked out?
The crack of humanity grows as the years pass.
Loyalty
Sincerity
Integrity
Humanity
I miss it. I want to bury the despair in the ground.
Now I want to wear bruises of hope on my crying feelings.
Goodbye day to give my pruned dreams a chance to water, fertilize and grow green.
Goodbye, last day of spring.
Man and Woman
The man was at first unresponsive, and then, nodding to the Woman's dream:
"It's fine!" he simply said, in a simple tone of voice!
This Cold Answer of man to his dreams; It was a complete disappointment in Woman because she didn't care with her loveless heart!
Silent Woman! He stared at the sea for such a long time in silence for a while, and then when he slowly returned to the environment, he realized that there was no point in opening his heart to Him any longer!
He was Someone who forgot to love or was indifferent, without love in his soul; The Man He's Holding His Hands!
The woman, on the other hand, was like a poem, thirsty for love and wanted a future full of True Love with her beloved, but the man did not even see her!
Yes, Present Stories is always like that!
People forget their heart, leave it as a hostage, desperately waiting for someone to be healed in Love, like "Scarlet".
Unless he is healed, he dies of lovelessness while leaving others unfinished, while those who are left unfinished leave others unfinished. They're being killed!
Meanwhile, at the End of the Story, the Woman;
He gave up on this man, who could not hold his heart and insensitive to dreams, "it hurt" his heart.
The man, on the other hand, could not understand why the woman who got up from the table and walked away, left with tearful eyes and sad!
