Nightcrawling

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Nightcrawling

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S T A R T.

Nightcrawling We offer new aesthetic designs.

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One year ago, I was completely filled with fear. Today, I am fearless.

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Longing

And a dejavu then hits

Sometimes the hypocrisy of life tells you that it's impossible to feel the things when they are miles from you, it's dissembling how it convinces you that your ultimate sensation depends on the approachment of the things but it feels like it is somehow a thing that grows deeply but inside you, to your roots, it doesn't need intertwining to be felt, it is already here along with the distance and the proximity, as well. Intertwining occured, already occured, ages ago, before reaching your timezone.

A trip is fortune, every footsteps passing across your process don't deserve to know all your collapsing and prosperous moments. Just two footsteps, one true heart, and two listening ears involving only one human-being are enough to know your authentic moments.

I remember it well, the first time I held a pen to write a letter.
Eighteen years old.
Everything was silly, useless, and white.
I wrote about hope.
Breakdowns.
Love.
Loneliness.
Solitude.
I wrote about anger.
Fear.
Warmness.
Power.
The first time when I wrote from my veins.
I was so genuine somehow to write things which reveal what is going inside and around.
I trusted my words.
I always trust my words.
I am quite sure that everything I am plotting down I mean it 100% even if I tried to hide that.
It came that time when I saw them thrown away, I stopped to believe any word other than mine.

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All the signs around me are warning me and I am about to make the correct decision. On the other hand, it feels so heavy and melancholy: choosing, by your own self, with your total accepting rationalistic mentality, a condition that you deeply ignore, reject, and refuse entirely. The worst scenario of all, when you have to teach yourself how to accept the fact of the disagreement contract between what you covet and what you are supposed to do.

They are always telling me that between what you truly desire and the right thing, a thin thread, you, barefooted, trying to reach a specific end by either falling from it or holding yourself from the difficulty of the road till you reach the right painful door.

The only thing they almost deal with is both ways are panging and killing inevitably, through doing the right thing with an extremely long period of misery until your emotions stop denying and accept the reality, or even through choosing what your emotions desire but with a lifetime feeling of regret and madness.