.a written note.

And now do I realize what they, the whispers, the sensations seem to do with me. By introducing themselves to me, suddenly disappearing yet promising to return, making me wait and then giving me hints that they're on their way to my door, they're making me vulnerable. In a way I never was before. A new vulnerability I'll live my life with henceforth. They're making me vulnerable despite knowing, given the past circumstances, that I have every reason not to be so ever again. They found their ways to me, no matter how unbelievable it seemed. They want me to listen to my inner self more than ever. They want me to stand up despite the obstacles I went through, despite the storms I'll continue to swim through. They want to see me being tough for the world is rough. Standing tough like a lighthouse. Away but still accompanying the water. Rough and tough yet having an elegance when the Sun sets and the water needs to be highlighted.

Whispers. The whispers created by the unknown, making me believe some promises aren't meant to be broken turned their arrival into an intention of disappearing a couple of nights ago. And here I am tonight. The bed I lie in makes the saudade, the longing feel less no matter how it feels really. Painful, chaotic or simply unknown. As my body hesitatingly rests on this bed, my internal self hesitates openly for the belief lays inside that I can come out from there..for there are locked doors ahead that I can open. I begin to hear that specific sound of typical midnight as the clock ticks 3am and I fail to understand whether both, the little chirping and the sound of silence, make any difference to the sensations I initially feel as I wait for the same whispers to get back to me. I still believe they'll come back but as the night continues to pass every moment, it becomes more chaotic to know the wait makes my heart sink deeper in an unusual way. This isn't what I thoug...

Because, if something really has arrived in my town whispering in my ears to make room for, will it sound crazy of me to say I can hear these whispers? Yes, it will. And I repeat, do I care? I want to form my own relation with these whispers. The whispers I hear. Like this revolution isn't a concept but a person. Someone visible only for me. For, more probably, my instincts. This someone pours some usual words in my ears leaving an everlasting effect in me initially, unusually and I feel like I am being reborn. I become sure that its a person when I feel the sense of breaths while the whispers being heard. But its not, I know it somewhere. How should I name this feeling, this whole sensation when I feel the warmth around me during these words I'm being told? How should I accept it myself that I've come to be in a state where every syllable holds a specific scent, feel of liveliness along with it. I realize I cannot want to form any relation with these sensations sin...