.a written note.

And do I need to know the age of my soul, really? Do I need to know how old it is? I wonder. As the greenish sky-blue curtains of this bedroom don't mind letting themselves flow, letting themselves be dominated by the summer air, the wild afternoon air, I don't mind going with the flow either. Like a child, I happen to think whether these old yet fresh curtains sometimes purify and cool down the hot summer air first before allowing it to reach me. I become more childlike mentally and wonder if its always been like this. When I see the one who has lately become my everything, my pet, resting entirely over a cold surface that we would call veranda, a smile appears to my face out of..nowhere. A smile, I know, full of memories. I pass by this veranda every time I get in and out, but how this adorable pet of mine, having come to where he was awaited for two long years, owns a power to make me recall everything I witnessed here. Over this veranda. How I lived the best hours o...

I'll be lying if I say I care. I don't. I don't care how many new emotions I meet as long as emptiness fills me. Should I?  Like the Sun doesn't mind, can't mind letting its light accompany it like an inseparable part of it every time it arises, I don't mind this emotion filling me physically, emotionally. My lungs, veins, cells and my brown skin. My thoughts, dreams and fears and flaws. I am not the Sun, but I wonder whether its burning that spreads the light, that uncontrollably gentle and dominating light all over the floor and the air of this universe, is strong and pure enough to enter one's soul. I remember how unstable I used to get because of one specific source. No, I don't blame the source, I wonder if I failed to grab the beauty, the positivity as much as instability I possibly got. But I can't wonder much. I don't. I've probably come farther than the path where I would've had asked for assurance, security around somet...