And then you leave the memories behind.
When you look at the pictures
It seems like it was always fun.
But you know that
in that photos everyone was actually broken deep down inside.
Wounded.
Bleeding.
Crying and yelling at the same time.
They were some kinda wounded birds...
Eagles, wrens...
When you remind that,
you became some kinda phoenix.

And life goes on like this.
like an uncomplete poem.

Arzum Uzun