I got so accustomed of taking to you that these days feel like glitches in my memory - like I can't remember them correctly or they just become a big blur after a while. I guess after all, passing time is something that we measure by our activities, activities that matter to us and now my sense of time is gone. I feel detached too. It's like I'm in a black hole of some sort. I'm getting drowned in my own darkness and nothingness - a vacuum sucking itself. I keep scrambling up this hole. I keep trying to grab on to your hands, to get ahold of you, which at this point is the only way that I believe, I could live again.

Just as before, he made the rounds sketching railroad stations and never missed a lecture at college. When he got up, he'd take a shower, wash his hair, and always brush his teeth after eating. He made his bed every moing, and ironed his own shirts. He did his best to keep busy. At night he read for two hours or so, mostly history or biographies. A long-standing habit. Habit, in fact, was what propelled his life forward. Though he no longer believed in a perfect community, nor felt the warmth of chemistry between people.

Every moing he'd stand at the bathroom sink and study his face in the mirror. And slowly he grew used to this new self, with all its changes. It was like acquiring a new language, memorizing the grammar.

- Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage

مث وقتی که بدنت هنوز گرمه و دردشو نمیفهمی...

دیگر افق برایمان معنای خاصی ندارد،
دیگر آسمان, شوری بر نمیانگیزد،
برای ما موجودات بالدار،
برای ما که پرواز را فراموش کردهایم.

پ.ن: خیلی وقت بود پست نذاشته بودم، ولی الان officially I'm Back

اگر چه مرغ زیرک بود حافظ در هواداری
به تیر غمزه صیدش کرد چشم آن کمان ابرو

+ غلام چشم - محمدرضا شجریان

گویند چرخیدن بیهوده است؛ گویم چرخیدن بیهوده است، مگر دور چشمهایش.