Half of the warmth kills us, and half of the response kills us more, and the memory continues to preserve things without things?
I do not find an accurate description of the warmth, nor do I know anything about the vastness of the earth, nor about affectionate homelands.
During the journey of life, we stop at stations inhabited by faces, embraced by souls, and we make wings for our dreams, then at some point everything disappears and the truth remains. We killed half of the warmth, and the half-response tormented us more!!
Nothing remains, even shadows disappear, and nothing remains in the subconscious mind except for those memories that we dedicated to making, to be the only witness to their presence on the map of our days, so that we accept endings, whatever they may be... Is there no longer hope for a new beginning awaiting us?!
We return to the question. Contrary to what we usually say in a less depressing way: Do we consider it exaggerated optimism if we concede that dreams can come true? And if the efforts to achieve it end, can they begin again...the same dreams?
I don't need great reasons to get to the point of irritability, and get completely trapped, while my "letters" exhale their poison as a wonderful expression to say: I'm just trying to tell you, I'm still here!!
Some relationships begin so strong that we believe that we will never separate, and we are surprised that they end so strong, to the extent that makes us believe that we will never meet...?
A person always aspires to be an exception...a beautiful exception to all forms of ugliness around him...we empty our energies into paper and ink pens; Some of the letters include us and tighten our hearts with steadfastness, so that we remain on our origin in a time when the origins are lost...
The soul becomes familiar with a soul that agrees with thought, nature, goals, and values... It becomes familiar with those who knock on its door, while the soul trembles and its pulse are regular... It becomes familiar with those who make beauty grow inside it without permission... Isn't some speech in need of feeling, not understanding?
We are still embarking on new paths, hoping that we will not stumble, hoping that we will see in the wrinkles of the mirror and the freshness of our souls openly that we will find a balanced and balanced true love, that does not jump suddenly to reach the sky with tenderness, and does not fall to the bottom of the earth with dryness; Its depth is in its roots, it is moderate in its temperament, it is disciplined in its path of ascent.
Looking forward to a day that quietly ends the noise of the huge play, and I, the traveler, who finally found what he was looking for, or found it as an unwritten ending within the scenarios of the story, or worse, had to taste the bitterness of half warmth and half response to disprove the theory: "What you seek seeks you in return".
We pay the price for intentional or unintentional mistakes, and we realize that we did not write about other possible possibilities, not meetings soaked with longing for happy endings. We are constantly sitting, waiting for the day that draws the map of life again.