The story of my life doesn't exist.1000Kitap
The story of my life doesn't exist. Does not exist.
There's never any center to it. No path, no line. There aré great spaces where you pretend there used to be someone, but it's not true, there was no one. The story of one small part of my youth I've already written, more or less-I mean, enough to give a glimpse of it Of this part, I mean, the part about the crossing of the river. What I'm doing now is both different and the same. Before, I spoke of clear periods, those on which the light fell. Now I'm talking about the hidden stretches of that same youth, of certain facts, feelings, events that I buried. I started to write in surroundings that drove me to reticence. Writing, for those people, was still something moral. Nowadays it often seems writing is nothing at all. Sometimes I realize that if writing isn't, all things, all contraries confounded, a quest for vanity and void, i's nothing. That if it's not, each time, all things confounded into one through some inexpressible essence, then writing is nothing but advertisement. But usually I have no opinion, I can see that all options are open now, that there seem to be no more barriers, that writing seems at a loss for somewhere to hide, to be written, to be read. That its basic unseemliness is no longer accepted. But at that point! stop thinking about it.
Hayatımın öyküsü yok. Yok.
Hiçbir zaman bir merkezi yok. Ne bir yol, ne bir çizgi. Eskiden birilerinin olduğunu varsaydığınız büyük boşluklar var, ama bu doğru değil, kimse yoktu. Gençliğimin küçük bir bölümünün hikayesini zaten yazdım, aşağı yukarı - yani, bir nebze de olsa bir fikir verecek kadar.
Bu kısımdan, yani nehrin geçilmesiyle ilgili kısımdan bahsediyorum. Şimdi yaptığım şey hem farklı hem de aynı. Daha önce, ışığın vurduğu, net dönemlerden
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Maybe the target nowadays is not to discover what we are but to refuse what we are.
First of all, I don't get angry at anyone for no reason or want to break their heart because, as my grandmother said, breaking a heart is like destroying the most sacred place. Unfortunately or fortunately, I do not know the feeling of hate because I have loved all my life, but I did not hate anyone who made me angry and harmed us. I always felt neutral. I neither loved nor hated. I think this is the worst thing because even hate is a feeling. I tried to explain myself, but constant conflicts arose as I tried to explain myself, and suddenly I found myself and my feelings in a great paradox. I was constantly confused and I wasn't sure about myself and you about love because you were in a hot and cold mood... (Normally, this is useful for connecting people to ourselves, but this is a very different system)
Maybe you will read these, maybe you won't, I don't know, but I just wanted to share my last feelings for you... On August I found you on Instagram when you commented on a page and I clicked on your profile and then I stalked you and I sent you a direct message because your aura was attractive. This happened randomly and carelessly because I thought you wouldn't reply to the message, but when you replied, it caught my attention and I felt like something was going to happen between us. I had to introduce myself to you because of that feeling... The conversation started, but I was in such a deep depression that I was never sure if I could have feelings for you. You know what's ironic? The night before I met you, I said something at the dinner table. I told the people at dinner that I want someone who understands me and can have deep conversations with me, and the very next day I met you, I think God heard my voice because it happened so fast.
When I met you, I said to
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