Permanent Sadness

Sad but true

He doesn’t know that I don’t mind his sudden sadness. I might not be his happiness, but at least I am with him. Sitting in front of each other, he is staring at an empty wall, lost in his mind, unaware of my gazing eyes, that are seeking for the reason of his melancholy. He is breathing heavily, crying without tears, screaming silently. His lips move only to sight.

Suddenly, he is back to reality, asking what time is it. Doesn’t he know that I lose the sense of time with him?

He has the most mysterious eyes, one cannot tell how is he feeling by looking into his eyes, they look the same, even if he is smiling. He smiles, a lot, but there is always an amount of sadness behind it. I am wondering when was the last time he truly felt happy. I love when he makes jokes, the silliest joke makes me crack up as if I am looking for a proof that he makes me happy. Sometimes he answers the same answers, using the same words like if he is too lazy to think of something new to say, and yet, I don’t mind. I bet he doesn’t know my birthday, he is too careless to ask or to remember, it’s been two months when he asked about anything except if I am doing well. And again, I don’t mind as long as he is with me.


Letter #2


Dear faraway friend,

I know that we are in the middle of summer. But do you not miss the warmth of winter? Cold air, rainy sky, and the sweet desperate need for a hot cup of tea. I hope your imagination is wild enough that you are already imagining it is raining outside your window, and this music is coming from your black old fashioned radio near you, holding -enthusiastically my letter in your cold hands.

Do you not wish that you lived in the century when the music was classic; soft piano, angry violent, and sad cello. When dancing required two people, holding each other, elegantly, one feels the moves of the other.

When the handwritten letters were the only way to communicate with far away people. You do not only read, you sense the words, you sense the person, you even smell the paper.

Do you not feel that we are -unfortunately in a century where we know way too much than we can handle. Think about how much information you can get in one simple click. How can a human being’s heart deal with the whole world’s issues, disasters, illness, poverty, war… Every single day.

Do you remember when war was between two countries or more? Well, in our generation, war is between the people of the same country.

Life was simple. Books were more pleasurable than a small black and white TV screen with two main shows and the news.

Telephone was at home only. When you are out, you are absolutely out. When you take a walk, you are really walking, when you are having a conversation, you are concentrated with it. Today, if one’s phone battery is not full, one is insecure. Friends were people around us, now friends are a number around the world.

Literature was about language, style, and a complicated story where one reading was never enough to fully relish the book. Nowadays, half the words of a book are  “F word” the other half is bunch of meaningless details, and the plot is lost between the lines.

Life was simply enjoyable.  I tell you a secret. I made my apartment looks a bit like an old-fashioned  house, and I try to live an old-fashioned life as in the 17th and the 18th centuries.

It was not the perfect time though; back then society was way patriarchal than now, and the misogynist ideologies continue to be in play till now, freedom was only in literature, now freedom is Online.

The first thing I do when I come back home is play Beethoven, Yanni, and Ibrahim Maalouf, I change my clothes to a floral sundress, and cook a fancy dinner for the princess (me) and I savour every single bite with a Jane Austen sentence. I enjoy the lonely afternoon tea as they used to. I most of the time talk to myself –like everyone else does, but, (keep it a secret) I try that fancy British accent, pretending that I am a young English aristocratic lady.



Letter #1


Dear faraway friend,

I’m wondering if you are wondering what my first letter would be about. Thinking about this makes me no longer sure about what I want to say. I honestly have nothing specific to say. But, I want to write and I wanted to have a reader and I imposed you to be my only reader. I am in a one-sided relationship with letters, because it’s challenging to find someone who has enough passion to words and to me so they would write me a letter, not even my closest best friend. My keyboard feels different, I am writing a letter, I am touching the keys like a blind man touching his lover’s face, every touch brings something new, I am writing a letter, it feels marvelous. Though I immensely wish if they were handwritten letters, so you would collect them in your Memories Box (if you have one) and go back to them after years, I may even send you a photo with each letter.

I thought, how important is it to keep in my mind to whom I am writing. Maybe I am writing to me before you.

Relationships are weird. Who said that we would be now in the process of becoming friends! Don’t you love that there’s someone in the other half of the world is maybe thinking about you, while you may be sleeping. Isn’t it fascinating that there’s someone who knows nothing about you, yet knows a lot, though they never felt your physical presence, don’t you feel that this kind of relationships made you sense the magic of being physically with someone, saying nothing, just knowing that there’s someone near to you, makes the  satisfaction of that silent moment huge.

If I die tomorrow, the only thing I would regret is not meeting you. Yet I believe that we shall meet, in a year, two or ten. We shall spend a day, a month or a year together. We shall explore the world through each other’s eyes. I would have a chance to travel with you to the city of Art, I would love to meet you -for the first in the middle of autumn at a museum, because I don’t like ordinary things. I don’t want us to have an ordinary conversation, in an ordinary café, in an ordinary city. The current connection should be created in the shed of an historical connection, affected by influential people, inspired by revolution events. I would show you the city’s fascinating details, and how everything is different there, from the grey-blue sky to the clear beach to the strong smell of the sea in the air. We would sit down on the sand and make stories about strangers, and babbling meaningless topics. We shall share our headphones, going through each other’s playlists would tell a lot, I will share with you my shame songs, I hope you will do the same. And I hope we would have same favorite songs to sing them out loud.

I am used to take a photo of my traveling partner while they are sleeping, I am warning you! I do not like to rest while traveling, who wants to waste time sleeping!

If I died before this day, would you do me a favor? Travel with a stranger, to a place you never been to, and it’s favorable if your traveling partner is from a different culture. If you already did so, please, do it again.



Strangers in Love


Stay There where you are. Do not come closer. Do not open up to me. I would love to keep us strangers as much as we can. I know enough and you know enough. Let’s keep the mysterious beautiful distance. Too much details about each other’s life would show our flaws. The distance is the only way to stay perfect in each other’s eyes. Who said strangers cannot fall in love?

Brief Reminder


Health, wealth, friends, lover, family, and even yourself, none of these would stay forever. Anything at any moment can be gone, therefore, enjoy the present moment. Do not be distracted by the fake connection of the new technology. You possess your Smartphone not vice versa. Savor the flavors of your dish, enjoy the smell of peach, and the redness of strawberries. Wake up with birds, breathe deeper, stare at the sky, and feel the sun. Be mindful of the blessings of the sun rays of each morning, the silent darkness of each night, and be passionately productive in between.

In Love with Words

My heart is beating fast, I’m smiling, my eyes are tearing, while I’m reading your words, my soul flies to your world, I’m no longer on earth, I’m there in the imaginary space you created out of your own ideas and feelings. It’s a piece of you. Pretty much it’s you. I’m already in love with the way you make me feel.
I’m touching your soft skin, looking in your deep eyes, and listening to your stories that you are whispering in my ear, only through your words. There are two kinds of words, those that end right after the period, and those that become a part of you, yours already made a quite huge place in my heart and mind.
I still feel the very same feeling whenever I reread your words. I actually enjoy rereading them, like if it is the first time. I secretly answer you by writing an answer to your writings, and it makes me feel part of your world. I discover myself by discovering you. I am glad I found you.