I’m writing in an old language. Perhaps it will never be understood. But my sentences will be felt.
Dear friend, paper. Forgive me. My soul couldn’t overcome loneliness. I’m casting a shadow on you.
Me and my pen.
It’s gone.
left work. My foot once again leaned towards that bar. But is it the right thing now? We’re down, no one is hold us. "What more?" said the tie. You couldn't be lie.
I followed the path. I went up to the upper floor and sat down. I rolled a cigarette like a crochet. I ordered a beer. They’re shouting from Mazhar to Fuat. "I have an excuse! What’s this story, why like this?"
One must turn to the author of the story. Once again, our fate has fallen into the hands of someone unfeeling...
My God!
Mazhar sends his regards. We four are very curious. How do we say good and bye?
"Who can bye well?" said my tie.
But I said, those who left have left. They killed the horse in Harem. What’s left of Üsküdar?
No one has a voice left. This must be mourning. I turned to my right and left. No one else remained on the upper floor. A shiver has descended on the pavement. Dreams are whipping my eyelids.
If I sleep, it will pass. We kick the bucket, we're not responsible.
I'm struggling, basically. I'm waiting for news. I'm stalling time with my pen. Some and some I feel like I can't afford it.
If I find a letter, for example, in my mailbox. From to head of some and some department;
"Dear Poyraz Teber. Your last sleep is tonight. Your dream limit is up. We’ve compressed your last dreams into the day. We wish you peace.''
If I went outside to look at the sun, the blue. On one side it’s snowing, on the other it’s raining. The weather is warm.
While walking down the street I run into him. We chat for a bit. She hugs me.
I realize that I can feel my back even while it doesn't hurt...
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