Some of the good memories that were left behind in my eyes and the ships that were left behind, and now we were only able to get away with the lonelyness of loneliness alone.
The cheerful rush of the screaming wind, the emancipation of a stranger who lost himself among the shadows, and the ever-growing scream echoing in the empty street. I was becoming more and more alienated to everything and everyone, I was almost as if I didn't belong there, as if I were who I was, I was totally opposed to myself.
However, I cannot hold back my desire to speak and suddenly I am afraid that I will tell all the things in my mind to a person I do not know at all in the street where there is no one who threw my loneliness and fear away from me for a moment until I was a knife in my heart.
Everybody was in an endless hurry to catch up when he couldn't go. Those who could not entertain their hearts, as they gave life, they were looking for a place to get a place in another heart. Can't we tell the poem about all the work, the ones who go to work from home? How could people remain so indifferent and unfamiliar to the premature uprising of words, and moreover, how could nothingness be surrounded and blessed on all sides, limiting life to what it lives?
