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Yellow Clouds

 Blog name: Yellow Clouds 

Category:  Personal Blog

Blog link:  https://saribulutlar.wordpress.com/

Blog Introduction

I exist as long as I write, and I write as long as my pen allows. I have been traveling at the peak of reading for about 2 years. Poems are a part of my life. Especially Didem Madak has always shared my secrets, pain and tears. I wanted to reduce his pain by reading. It's as if words have accumulated in me since the day I was born and waited for a day of separation to explode. After that day, I wrote pretty little things first. I was sad and only books understood me. After a while, my pen started to move. Thanks to a friend. He said summer, I believe in you. Then I believed in myself and started writing. Do not think that I am sitting at my computer at home or on a bench, taking the pen and paper and writing. I am writing my every feeling on the raindrops by climbing above the Yellow Clouds and shouting. Peaceful Above Yellow Clouds, happiness is still there. But my love for the sea is separate. My life is hidden above the yellow clouds, in the depths of the deep blue sea.

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I am a student. My blog life started when I opened the blog  Yellow Cloudd where I wrote articles in English  . My main goal was to improve my English, I always wrote about personal issues there. At that time, I realized that I love to write and that my imagination is wider than I thought. I want to continue writing articles on that blog as soon as possible. Afterwards  , I opened my blog called Yellow Clouds  and now I am telling there what is pouring from my heart into my tongue.

My articles are very valuable to me. Every word, every touch is a piece of me. The embodiment of my feelings, emotions, pains. As I read them, I see myself and understand myself. You know, one must first understand himself.

I am not using my name. I'm not telling my age. I'm not talking about my height, weight, language, religion, color, where I live or how I live. Thoughts and feelings are important to me. In a world where it is so difficult for us to express myself, I think our blogs are the most beautiful place. I am as much as I write and I am as much as you read.

Ever since the day when my feelings couldn't fit in, ever since no one understood my pain, I've been on the yellow clouds. If you come, know that you will be happy.

Good-hearted people who determine their path with their pen, stay with love...

An article from the blog content:

I'm very clumsy.
I'm always dropping things out of my hand. I can't hold it tight. I can't even hold my tongue, I say everything all of a sudden. But the subject is what fell out of my hands. Does the thing held tightly fall off? I'm dropping it because I can't hold it anyway. I take the glass from the shelf as if it were a consignment, my fingers are loose, my nerves are calm, then a sound and a glass of salt and ice. My nerves are suddenly tense, my heart rhythm is much faster, my pupils are large. Things are very difficult now. It is necessary to collect the broken glass pieces from the ground completely, so that blood does not flow or hurts. A stressful task, hectic, cheesy.

I'm always dropping things out of my hand. Is it because I'm clumsy? I mean, is that the name of not being able to grasp the glass I took off the shelf and put it on the tray?

A heart of glass in my palm. I look at him, every minute. How beautiful and magical. I pass it from one palm to the other; nor tame. Then a voice and again the same scene. Salt ice.

I love it so much, if I don't, will I look at it with admiration? If I take it and put it in a safe place, it will always stay with me, but what's the point of having a chest that belongs to me if I can't see it, can't smell it? I always wanted to look at him, so I did not spare my palm. It's because I love it so much.

I'm so clumsy, I drop whatever I have. I can't hold it. I'm losing. It's falling apart in front of my eyes, I can't put it together. I can't even collect every part of it completely, how can I put it together. There's a trace of him everywhere, I think he's taking revenge.

Much later; Maybe a little closer to forgetting than the previous year, when one of my foot veins sends a signal to my brain. I stare in horror at my aching finger. blood spilled. Wouldn't blood be spilled? I forgot a part of you; on one edge of my rug, at the end of my heart, in the stale smell of my shirt.

I know you hid so as not to be forgotten. If you don't want me to forget, why don't you come out? You are cowardly. You come to my dream, you are silently permeating the whole reality, the closest moment I wake up, you look into my eyes and hide your eyes when I open them.

I do not promise anything, I will never drop you again, so that I will not hurt or upset you. I'm on it, it makes me angry, it makes me crazy. Even if you make a promise, drop it, upset you or break it, I won't go.

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