Second half

So I passed the milestone. Half time here in Trabzon, the referee blows his whistle. Shaken and tired I want to withdraw. But ain't no break for the broken.

I lost my everything in a month. It wasn't easy. I could have suffered less but I made it more unbearable. It's like a perverted hobby of mine. Deep inside, that's how I like myself maybe.

There is no bitter taste. No lingering on the moments I screwed up, the memories I demolished. Just fear, plain fear. The fear of not finding her again. Anymore. Because eventually, finding the right person is the goal. To hell with arts! With politics, with job and everything else. To hell with my life...

She is my only aim. My only desire. And if found, never leaving.. never hurting her. Never letting my child see us separating. May I die under the veil of animosity; the cover of mediocrity; but I'd be buried as a happy man. The man who saw his son and daughter grow up and find their own ways. The man whose hand is held until the last moment.

Loneliness is the thing this man fights against the most but he doesn't have the tools. He blows himself in the wrong direction.

Now is forever...

So where am I now?

Trabzon. Surrounded by love and care taking but blinded by the lens of self-loathing and pity.

 Second half: the referee blows his whistle...