It all began with a game of backgammon on a moonlit rooftop. We met well after midnight, under a canopy of stars that seemed to be cheering for our competition. The back-and-forth of the game mirrored the excitement between us; I won the first match by the slimmest of margins, only to lose the next.

In the middle of the crisp night air, we discovered a shared moment of openness, illuminated by the occasional flicker of our shared cigarettes. Then questions flowed like the night breeze. With each answer, a deeper connection bloomed, drawing us closer. It was as if the universe conspired to fuse our hearts together, and by the time dawn approached, we had fallen in love.

As the mighty sun, radiant and magnificent, ascended the horizon, it bathed our rooftop stage in a warm embrace. The irony of the dawn was not lost on me; it symbolized the turning point in my own life. I had been living in the depths of despair, navigating a seemingly endless dark night. And now, at this precise moment, I stood at the right place and the right time.

The sunrise was not just a celestial event; it was a symbol of hope and renewal. That rooftop had become the backdrop for the sunrise of my own life, where love had found me in the middle of darkness. As the sun painted the world with its golden hues, I knew that my life was forever changed, all because of a game of backgammon that led to an unexpected connection under the vast, starry sky.

3 Wolves

In an ancient town nestled between rolling hills, an eccentric joker with a penchant for pranks crossed paths with a mysterious magician who seemed to wield the very essence of wonder. “Your illusions are truly something else,” the joker mused, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

The magician’s smile was obscure, “And your humor has the power to lift spirits. Perhaps we should collaborate.”

As they conversed on a cobblestone street, a valiant hero, his armor gleaming in the sunlight, approached with curiosity piqued. “Imagine the impact if we channeled our talents for the greater good,” the hero suggested, His voice resonating with noble purpose.

Just as their discussion grew animated, a burst of laughter drew their attention. An innocent child, wide-eyed and full of wonder, had joined their circle. The magician’s fingers danced, conjuring illusions that painted the air with fleeting marvels. In tandem, the joker spun stories and performed antics that evoked bursts of mirth.

But in the midst of this enchantment, a wild seeker, an enigma cloaked in curiosity, materialized as if from thin air. “Why stick to the predictable? Embrace the unknown!” the seeker proclaimed with an infectious enthusiasm.

The challenge intrigued them all, and they embraced it wholeheartedly. The magician delved into realms of magic untouched, the hero honed skills he had never dared to explore, the joker pledged to weave acts of kindness into his jests, and the child committed to sharing his boundless joy.

Under the seeker’s influence, their lives took an exhilarating turn. They embarked on daring escapades, defied expectations, and reveled in the unpredictable nature of existence. The town transformed into a canvas splashed with laughter, threaded with curiosity, and illuminated by the radiant hues of possibility.

And so, life unfurled into a mixture of excitement, woven with laughter, curiosity, and a shared determination to savor every extraordinary moment.

The Little Devil

Passing through the imposing gates of hell, a bone-chilling aura enveloped me, the air thick with a foreboding sense of dread. Amongst an array of otherworldly creatures, their twisted forms a testament to the torment of this place, I found myself greeted with an unsettling welcome.

Amidst the maelstrom of chaos and suffering, my attention was unexpectedly drawn to a diminutive devil. Her presence, seemingly incongruous with the hellish surroundings, managed to stand out amidst the cacophony of despair. It was as if a single, solitary light shone within this dismal abyss.

Navigating the suffocating heat and the disorienting dance of burning flames, my journey through hell led me to her. She was a soul wrought with torment much like mine, yet in the depths of her eyes, there burned an unquenchable spark of defiance. In a realm where days seemed to stretch into torturous eternities, we discovered an unlikely companionship that served as a beacon of respite amidst the unremitting gloom.

Our bond grew amidst whispered conversations that were woven with fragments of memories from a life before damnation. Despite the chaos surrounding us, her occasional smiles brought a glimmer of warmth, and the tinkling laughter that escaped her lips seemed to momentarily suspend the relentless torment of the inferno.

The burgeoning affection between us became a flicker of light cutting through the overwhelming darkness, a stark contrast to the unforgiving landscape that perpetually encircled us. As the inexorable passage of time blurred our perception, the connection between us deepened. Yet, a nagging uncertainty remained in the recesses of my mind. Could something as beautiful as our bond truly thrive in a place as wretched as hell? Despite the doubt, I clung to the fragile hope that this connection possessed an inherent power, one that could transcend even the most nightmarish inferno and allow us to emerge unscathed on the other side. Now it’s just a game of patience and understanding. Well what could you do?

“And the light shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not.” – John 1:5

The Weird Fish

As she sat beside me in my car, her presence seemed to envelop the air around us. While listening to her spectacular music ,the hum of the engine faded into the background as my focus zeroed in on her delicate hand resting on the seat between us. An overwhelming desire to touch her hand, to intertwine our fingers, surged within me. I was dying to pull her close, to embrace her with every fiber of my being, and to feel the warmth of her skin against mine.

The urge to kiss her lips was almost unbearable, the magnetic pull between us undeniable. Yet, a sense of propriety and respect held me back. I was a man of manners, raised to treat a lady with utmost respect and courtesy. The dilemma was palpable – the battle between my yearning heart and the principles ingrained within me.

As we journeyed together, the complex narrative of emotions and desires played out before me. The struggle between the raw intensity of my feelings and the constraints of societal norms created a tension that was both thrilling and frustrating. How the simplest of actions could be laden with such intricate layers of meaning and restraint?

As the car continued its route, I realized that perhaps the most beautiful stories are not always those where desires are fulfilled, but those where desires remain suspended in the realm of possibility—a delicate balance between the heart’s fervor and the mind’s wisdom.

Funny, how the the most basic gestures held the power to redefine the course of two lives. As we continued our journey, the road stretched before us like an open book, each chapter waiting to be written. And so, amid the unspoken words and unfulfilled desires, a story unfolded—one of longing, connection, and the intricate dance of emotions that was quite difficult to explain.


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