As the music pulsed through the room, I found myself swaying in sync with another, swept away by the unfamiliar song. In the midst of the vibrant atmosphere, a fleeting thought crossed my mind—a thought as delicate as a whisper, yet potent enough to stir my curiosity.

“Let me explore you,” the thought whispered, entwining itself with the rhythm of our dance. “Try you, learn you, understand you.” The music seemed to echo the sentiment, inviting to connect beyond the surface.

With each step and twirl, the thought took root. “Let me dig deep,” it persisted. “Let me go beyond your persona and sit with your hidden self.” As if by some unspoken agreement, movements grew more intimate, reflecting a mutual desire to reveal the layers beneath our exterior facades.

The music swirled around us like a magical incantation, and I couldn’t help but wonder. “I know lots of magic tricks; maybe I can show you some.” The words danced alongside the melodies, suggesting a shared journey into the realm of the unknown.

“Trust me, and I will trust you,” I thought, my heart beating in sync with the rhythm. The vulnerability of the moment seemed to encourage an unspoken pact of mutual understanding, a silent promise to honor the uncharted territory we were stepping into.

“Respect me, and I’ll respect you,” the thought resonated, weaving itself into the intricate steps we took. As our bodies moved as one, a profound sense of respect blossomed, acknowledging the uniqueness and significance of our shared experience.

The music crescendoed, filling the space with its energy, and the thought evolved. “Be the subject of my love songs,” it urged, intertwining with the harmonies. The dance became a symphony of emotions, a canvas upon which feelings of affection and longing could be expressed without words.

Breaking through the constraints of ordinary connection. With each spin, I felt a deepening bond, tearing away the veils that often separated us from one another.

“Raise my soul from my body,” the sentiment echoed, almost mystical in its intensity. As we swayed and twirled, I felt a sense of liberation, as if my spirit was ascending, transcending the mundane confines of the physical world.

“Elevate me into ecstasy, so I can shine for you like the sun,” the thought sang out, harmonizing with the music’s final crescendo. In that fleeting moment, our dance transformed into an act of shared transcendence, a celebration of the inexplicable connection that can be forged in the space of a single song.

And as the final notes lingered in the air, I found myself in awe of the power of a simple thought—a thought that had taken root and blossomed into a beautiful, ephemeral dance of understanding, trust, and shared humanity.

The Spectre

Well it has been a wild ride as the cells in my wicked mind began a relentless rewiring, attempting to repair the addictive grooves you’d carved into its fabric. The air was stifling, the summer clinging to the city like a wet blanket. Memories of you became faded, pushed into the murky corners of my consciousness where they mixed with the shadows.

The nights brought dreams, where you resurfaced like a specter, a haunting reminder of what was once so tangible. Loneliness crept in, settling like a comfortable companion, its weight oddly reassuring. The days stretched into an endless procession, marked by a relentless flow of withdrawal symptoms. A dull ache settled in my chest, a persistent reminder of the cruel reality.

Anhedonia slinked in like a sullen fog, wrapping around me with cold fingers. Joy became a distant memory, and human interaction felt like an alien concept. Isolation seemed an inescapable cage, each attempt at escape greeted by its unyielding bars.

Nothing seemed to fit anymore. The world’s harmony had lost its melody, and hidden anxieties devoured me from within.

Why, I wondered, had I become this version of myself? It was as if my mind had become a maze of contradictions and confusions. And still, through it all, I fought – against the isolation, against the chaos, against the branches of my own self-doubt that threatened to ensnare me entirely.

Shooting Star

In the labyrinth of an intoxicated mind, emotions lie dormant, suppressed by an impenetrable fog. Yet, beneath the surface, feelings surge with an unexpected intensity, like a current struggling to break free from its constraints. Amidst the haze, the urge to embrace the unknown is overpowering, leading to magical encounters with recent strangers along dimly lit, distant streets. Is this madness, or perhaps a desperate attempt to feel alive in a world that appears increasingly detached?

In the midst of this chaotic whirlwind, a plea for consolation emerges. A yearning for freedom from the shackles of a cluttered mind, to escape the maelstrom of thoughts that hold one captive. What mysteries lie within your contemplations of me? Are they woven with nostalgia or indifference? And as you revel in the arms of a new lover, is it genuine happiness or a fleeting distraction that resides in your heart?

Yet, shrouded in secrecy, a whispered wish escapes. Its words cast upon the canvas of a night sky filled with shooting stars, each twinkle a testament to the aspirations and desires that remain veiled from the world. Alienation settles in, a feeling of being out of sync with the rhythm of human interactions. What is this void that defies easy explanation?

The intoxication of the mind, the whirlwind of emotions, the pursuit of connection amid disconnection — all intertwine in a narrative of inner conflict and external exploration. And as the stars continue their celestial dance, these thoughts persist, seeking understanding and resolution within the threads of human experience.


I always liked shadows. They felt more honest than light. Whenever I found myself in dim corners of hushed cafes, I would lean over to the stranger next to me, confessing, “The world looks better into the dark.”
My apartment, situated on a bustling offshoot of the main road, always maintained a cozy, dim ambiance, comforting in its subtle mystery. Sometimes, she would dance by the window. The soft glow of the moon would outline her silhouette. “Someone’s out there, watching,” I would say, a hint of unease in my voice. Sipping wine, a slight smirk on her face, she would reply, “Then let them see.”
Nights would melt into mornings. We would talk or not, sit close or on opposite ends. Predictability was never our thing.
One evening, she spoke of departure. The weight of her words lingered. “Don’t kiss me goodbye, some endings need no exclamation mark.” she said .
Lately, I found myself fascinated by the railroad tracks. The certainty of their direction, their straight paths, felt reassuring. However, for all that certainty, I missed our shared uncertainty.
It was never about the stark contrast of light or dark, but the gray spaces in between. Those were the places where we truly lived. For in my world, darkness and light were not rivals; they were dance partners in an eternal ballet.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” –John 1:5

Abiverdi 2

Under the veil of the night, I found myself wandering down Abiverdi 2 street, the moon’s silvery light guiding my way. As if drawn by an invisible force, I stumbled upon a cherry tree, its branches reaching out like dark shadows against the night sky.

The scent of cherries was enchanting, enticing me to pick their ripe treasures. With each pluck, the night seemed to grow even more magical. The moonlight danced on the cherries’ glossy surface, and the sweet taste lingered on my lips, filling me with a sense of wonder.

I relished the solitude of the night, feeling like the only soul aware of this hidden oasis in the city. In this moment, time lost its grip, and I was immersed in the beauty of the present.

As I gathered cherries under the night’s watchful eye, a sense of gratitude washed over me. Nature had gifted me this serene encounter, a secret shared between the cherry tree and me, and I treasured it like a precious memory to carry with me always. With my heart free, I returned home, feeling connected to the mysteries of the night and the simple joys that can be found under the moon’s gentle glow.

“Are not all angels ministering spirits sent to serve those who will inherit salvation?”Hebrews 1:14

A moral dilemma

A sturdy oak, deeply rooted, stood tall in the heart of the forest. Its branches offered shade, its roots providing strength and resilience against the storm. It symbolized commitment, a testament to time, nurturing the life within and around it.
Just at the edge of the forest, a river flowed, wild and unrestrained. Its course was a path of change, unpredictable and free, reflecting the moon’s glow in its constant flux. This river embodied debauchery, its enticing ripples calling for immersion, promising excitement, yet bearing no promises of permanence.
Both the oak and river, carved by time, held their unique allure. The oak, steadfast in its purpose, offered peace and security, a silent vow to withstand the harshest winds. It promised loyalty, but at the cost of its rooted stillness, its predictability a comfort and a constraint.
The river, ever-changing, brought thrill and uncertainty, freedom, and a peculiar sense of loneliness. It offered the chance to float, to let go, but its waters were as fickle as they were liberating, leaving no trace of yesterday, holding no assurance for tomorrow.
The oak and river stood at odds, embodiments of a moral dilemma— commitment or debauchery, the tranquility of constancy or the ecstasy of freedom.

Out of Service

I locked the doors of my office for the last time, my hands trembling with uncertainty. Three long years of my life had passed here in this city, a turbid dream that flickered with both joy and despair. I had worked tirelessly, sculpting faces and bodies, seeking perfection in a world that often felt distorted.
But now, it was time to bid farewell. The weight of alienation pressed heavily upon me, a deep ache that had settled in my heart. I felt disconnected from this place and its people, like an outsider in my own existence.
As I stepped out onto the street, I could not help but feel engulfed by a sense of discomfort. What if I had made the wrong choice? What if my dreams of relocating to a foreign land would dissolve into mere illusions? The what ifs haunted me, casting shadows upon my path.
I looked around, taking in the familiar sights of the square. The bustling crowds moved with purpose, oblivious to the storm of doubt raging within me. A sigh escaped my lips as I lit a cigarette, the smoke swirling in the air like a reflection of my thoughts.
In that moment, I knew I could not stay. The dark and gloomy atmosphere mirrored my inner turmoil, fueling my desire for escape. I took a long drag, the bitterness of the tobacco mingling with my hidden fears.
With one final glance at the office building behind me, I turned and ran. Away from the city that had been both my sanctuary and my prison. Away from the questions that haunted me, into the unknown.
I sprinted through the streets, my footsteps echoing in the silence of the night. The city lights blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors, and with every step, I felt a weight lifting off my shoulders. It was a leap of faith, a leap into the uncertain depth.
I had chosen my path, forsaking the safety of the known for the promise of a new beginning. The doubts still lingered, but as I ran, the wind whispered to me, carrying a fragment of hope. It was time to embrace the darkness and find my light amidst the shadows.

“And behold, I will lead you out from your place of uncertainty and alienation, for I am the light that guides your path. Cast away your doubts and fears, for in your faith, you shall find solace. Run with courage, for I am with you, even in the darkest of times.” – Psalm 23:4

A Favorite

The glow of the television flickered across the room as the movie played out its twisted narrative. It was one of those evenings when the world seemed to align perfectly, and our newly formed bond was brimming with an intoxicating energy. The air hung heavy with a familiar aroma, a delicate fragrance that whispered of liberation and escape. The room, shrouded in a haze, seemed to take on a different hue, its edges softened by a clandestine secret. A subtle smile played on our lips as we indulged in a shared experience, our minds floating in uncharted realms.

“The Favorite” by Yorgos Lanthimos unfolded on the screen, the strange and surreal tale of palace intrigue captivating our senses. We laughed and gasped at the absurdity, sharing secret glances that spoke volumes. In that moment, I felt an undeniable connection, a feeling I could not quite put into words.

After the movie ended, we reluctantly left the comfort of my living room. I drove her back to the university dorm, the streets outside quiet and serene. The car rolled to a stop at the entrance, and I parked, breaking the silence.

As she prepared to step out of the car, something tugged at my heart. I wanted to convey what I could not find the courage to say before. “You could be a favorite,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, lost in the dark confines of the vehicle.

However, the words dissipated into the air, unheard by her. She exited the car, oblivious to the sentiment lingering behind. I watched her disappear into the distance, the weight of missed opportunity sinking deep within me.

Confused and longing for the connection we had shared, I pulled away from the university, navigating through empty streets. The quietness amplified my thoughts, the hum of the engine serving as a backdrop to my introspection.

Inside, the television screen remained blank, mirroring the emptiness in my chest. I slumped into the couch, the remnants of the evening still hanging in the air, a bittersweet reminder of what could have been.

And so, I sat there, enveloped in silence, my mind replaying the moments that slipped through my fingers like sand, yearning for a chance to rewind and capture what might have been—a favorite lost in the echoes of missed words.


I lay on the sterile hospital bed, the white walls enclosing me like a prison. Voices echoed in my mind, taunting and cruel. My psychosis had taken everything from me, my sanity crumbling like a delicate sandcastle in the waves.

But then she came, like an angel descending upon this fucked up place. The lady with straight  hair and eyes that shone like stars. Her visits were my lifeline, the only flicker of hope in my torment.

As she sat beside me, her presence soothed my restless soul. But something stirred within me—a hallucination, vivid and unsettling. I watched in horror as my mind conjured a macabre image.

In my delusion, I saw myself reaching out, my fingers grazing her delicate cheek. And then, with a swift motion, I imagined sinking my teeth into her eyes. The imagined taste flooded my senses, unexpected yet strangely satisfying.

To my surprise, my mind conjured the sensation of boiled eggs, their texture soft and yielding. But as I “ate” her eyes in my hallucination, a cruel twist of fate revealed itself—I realized that she had forgotten to bring salt and black pepper.

The bitterness of regret mingled with the delusion, a melancholic symphony dancing upon my taste buds. I realized the irony of my situation—starving for connection, longing for normalcy, only to find myself trapped within the prison of my own mind.

As the lady noticed my distress, concern etching her face, I knew she couldn’t comprehend the horrors that unfolded within me. Tears filled her eyes, but she remained at my side, offering peace in her presence. I understood the depths of my madness. I was trapped in a perpetual cycle, yearning for what I could never truly possess.

Threads of Fear and Love

I sat in my favorite couch, facing my aging parents in the dimly lit living room of our family home. The heavy silence enveloped us, but an invisible thread of connection tied us together. In a few months, I would be leaving this country forever, embarking on a journey to a distant land. Yet, the ties that bound me to my parents were stronger than ever.
Their love was immense, overwhelming, and suffocating. It wrapped around me like a thick fog, threatening to drown me in its depths. But underneath it all, I knew it was fueled by their fear, their worry for my future.
As I looked at them, their faces etched with lines of time. A fear clawed at my chest, tightening its grip with each passing day. It was the fear of not being there for them, of missing out on the precious moments we had left together. It was the fear of them departing this world, leaving me alone, forever.
My heart ached, heavy with the unbearable thought of their absence. The thought of losing them, of their voices fading into memories, tormented my soul. I longed for their presence, their warmth, their love.
In that somber moment, my mother appeared with a tray of steaming tea. She placed it on the coffee table, the familiar aroma filling the air. With a gentle smile, she leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss on my forehead. It was a simple gesture, filled with an ocean of unspoken emotions.
As her lips touched my skin, the fears and worries momentarily subsided. In that brief moment, I found solace. Their love, though overwhelming, was a testament to the bond we shared. And even if I couldn’t be physically present in their lives, the love we held for each other would endure, transcending borders and time.
I sipped the tea, the warmth spreading through me, a bittersweet reminder of the love and fear intertwined within our existence. As the cup touched my lips, I realized that in that moment, we were together, connected by an unbreakable thread of love that would endure even in the face of separation and loss.

Journal No2

I sat at my desk, surrounded by books and notes, desperately trying to focus on my studies. But as usual, my mind was a chaotic whirlwind of thoughts, swirling and colliding, leaving me in a perpetual state of confusion. I was an overthinker, constantly plagued by worries and what-ifs.
The weight of my responsibilities pressed heavily upon me. I knew I had to work hard for my future, but the constant stream of thoughts devoured every ounce of my attention. Brain fog clouded my mind, rendering me incapable of grasping even the simplest concepts.
I would try to motivate myself, to muster the strength to conquer the overwhelming thoughts. I closed my eyes, took deep breaths, and attempted to quiet the storm within. But it was a futile battle, for the thoughts only grew louder, drowning out my attempts at focus.
Time ticked away, and I watched the hours slip by, my frustration mounting with each passing minute. I yearned for clarity, for a moment of respite from the incessant mental chatter. That’s when I reached for my last resort.
With a sigh, I rose from my desk and made my way to the kitchen. I reached into a drawer and retrieved a small bag of dried herbs. Their pungent aroma filled the air as I rolled one into a makeshift cigarette. I lit it, inhaling deeply, allowing the smoke to fill my lungs.
As the smoke enveloped me, a sense of calm washed over my restless mind. The thoughts, once overpowering, gradually receded to the background, their intensity diminishing. My racing heart slowed, and I could finally breathe.
In that moment, I found peace. The herbs provided a temporary escape, a brief respite from the relentless onslaught of thoughts. For a while, I allowed myself to relax, to exist in the present without the weight of the future pressing down on me. But deep down, I knew that this was not a sustainable solution. The herbs were merely a Band-Aid, a temporary fix for my overactive mind.

“Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.” – 1 Peter 5:7

Journal No1

I drive around the city with a feverish pace, relentlessly seeking any trace of my beloved. My eyes jump from one vehicle to another, searching the streets for her car or any signs of her presence. Though I am aware of the futility and confusion of this pursuit, it surprisingly grants me a semblance of tranquility.

As the urban landscape unfolds before me, memories of our shared moments flood my thoughts. The echoes of laughter, the tenderness of her touch—everything that defined our togetherness. Yet, she disappeared without a trace, leaving behind an emptiness that consumed me. Engaging in this wild chase is an escape route, a mean to momentarily alleviate the ache within.

Time stretched, languid and unforgiving, as I pressed on, guided solely by the dim glow of distant streetlights. Perhaps my quest wasn’t about finding her at all. It was about grappling with my own fractured existence, seeking redemption in the act of searching.

Elliott Smith’s haunting melodies filled my car, matching the turbulence within me. As his voice whispered through the speakers, I couldn’t help but judge myself. I felt weak, unable to cope with this overwhelming situation. The tears threatened to spill, but I held them back, refusing to break down. Yet I felt like a ship wreck, 12000 feet under ocean , laying low on the sea bed.

Oh is there an end to this sorrow?

“Seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.” -Matthew 7:7


A Saturday in Shiraz

Beneath the blazing Shiraz sun, I sought refuge in a small local café, clutching my chilled beverage. Trailing droplets of condensation mirrored the icy grip that now enveloped my spirit.

Embarking on a fresh chapter in my life, the burden of a shattered connection weighed heavily on my mind. Someone once intimately close had undergone an inexplicable metamorphosis, becoming an unfamiliar entity overnight. Memories of shared laughter and whispered secrets had faded into distant illusions. How could such profound trust be dissolved so abruptly?

Savoring the refreshing elixir, I contemplated the morality of the situation. Was the blame mine to shoulder? Had I neglected their needs, presuming them eternal? The torment of introspection gnawed at my core, yearning for answers beyond my reach.

Amidst the clamor of the sweltering summer, the city’s bustling symphony merged with the storm brewing within me. Regret and confusion clashed fiercely, leaving me emotionally battered.

Observing the passersby, their countenances concealing untold narratives, a realization dawned upon me: life’s tapestry weaves unforeseen twists, turning cherished companions into enigmatic strangers. The transformation eluded my control, but my response remained within my grasp.

With each sip, the bitter brew mingled with a bittersweet acceptance of change. I vowed to forge ahead, armed with hard-earned wisdom, embracing the uncharted path that lay before me. The sun’s radiant rays caressed my cheeks as an unspoken commitment formed within – to navigate this new journey with resilience, fortitude, and an open heart receptive to the boundless possibilities that awaited.


Surrounded by a circle of familiar faces, their voices melded in a chorus of celebration. The melody of the happy birthday song resonated through the room, filling the air with an exuberant hum. Yet, within the depths of my being, emotions swirled like a kaleidoscope, painted in shades of joy and sorrow.

On this pivotal day, my thirtieth revolution around the sun, I stood at the crossroads of conflicting sentiments. It was as if my heart had become a canvas, brushed with hues neither starkly bright nor entirely dim. They swirled together, blurring the lines of distinction.

In the recesses of my mind, I embarked on a retrospective voyage, tracing the contours of my tumultuous twenties—a journey akin to navigating a treacherous terrain. I recalled the battlefield of my experiences, a war zone where bravery and vulnerability collided. The echoes of my military service reverberated, punctuated by moments of exhilaration and fear, as if dancing to the rhythm of my memories.

Within the tapestry of my recollections, I encountered the weight of responsibility, a demanding taskmaster that haunted my days and plagued my nights. It was an enigmatic puzzle, a complex equation whose solution always eluded me. The pursuit of success, once a beacon of purpose, now seemed entangled with a sense of emptiness, like chasing shadows that slipped through my grasp.

Yet, beyond the fog of reminiscence, there existed a void—a space left unoccupied, like a key missing from its designated lock. It was the absence of a cherished presence, a silhouette whose contours had become indelibly etched upon my soul. Her memory lingered, a phantom touch that both comforted and pained, casting shadows upon the fragments of my heart.

In the midst of the jubilant chorus surrounding me, I embraced the enigma of my emotions. Life, it seemed, was a masterful painting, crafted with contrasting strokes and hidden depths. And on this day of reflection, I vowed to navigate the labyrinth of feelings, seeking solace in the vast expanse of possibilities, where hope and healing intertwined, like tendrils of ivy reclaiming a forgotten garden.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” – Matthew 5:4


In the crowded aisles of the local supermarket, I roamed with a heavy heart. A lingering sense of loneliness pervaded my being as I maneuvered through the bustling shoppers, their hurried steps and distant conversations creating a symphony of disconnection.

The bright fluorescent lights above cast a harsh glare, illuminating the weariness etched on my face. Memories of lost ones and missed opportunities weighed on my mind, whispering regrets into my thoughts. Each item I picked up and placed into my cart seemed to amplify my solitude.

As I wandered through the store, a wave of melancholy washed over me, threatening to pull me under its melancholic tide. In that moment of vulnerability, I felt the weight of my aloneness bear down upon me, an acute realization of my place in the world.

Reaching the checkout counter, I exchanged a weary smile with the cashier, our brief interaction tinged with a mutual understanding of the mundane. The transaction was a perfunctory exchange, devoid of warmth or connection, merely a transaction in the capitalist machine.

Stepping out of the supermarket, I was greeted by the hot humid breeze that whispered through the evening air. The world around me, with all its imperfections and coldness, remained unchanged. Yet, a glimmer of hope flickered within me, a small ember of resilience that refused to be extinguished.

No words of comfort or salvation awaited me. The journey of loneliness was mine to endure, a burden that became an intrinsic part of my existence. With each step, I accepted the weight upon my shoulders, knowing that I would continue, one foot in front of the other, traversing the path of my existence.

“And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”

– Matthew 28:20