Open letter to my good luck, one more came. This is not like the other. For one thing by itself makes no secret, who says: A boy named Ismet Zeki Eyuboglu. Ie, reading my Dormitory at the University of Istanbul Science. Having fun with me then, does not ridicule me, chatroulette.net ovary underneath iğnelemeğe Looking as such pitches. Çıkışıyor me, çıkışıyor or rightly çıkışıyor. Old my articles, my articles in love with these self-Turkish, angry ones, he says:
“Point the other day I read your writing in the journal quoted Ulus. If you knew what was so sad! Or you missed the hand? Oh those old beautiful self-Turkish words, where he yazınızdaki literature, morality, rights, art, wonder, words are like poetry Ottoman tutsuz unpleasant. Why changing our thoughts fielded a look at this word? You do not want to write new words that do not like it there? One day you come out of a person: “This voice did not like,” Would you change your voice to say to look at him? No matter what hand day. We look our way.
It says so many things. Enveloped in a sweet feeling inside of me reading that letter, “letter” rather than “script” moment on I said. Telling the truth, well said he was young. I believe in myself returning to the road where there was embarrassed? What can I say this in response to çıkışmalarına bağışlatayım fault? I got a sorry, Yet do not understand young people, understand this even better. Again, I say.
A child, I got old, kocadım out of the way I’ve chosen for her. Know that it was not rejoicing. Yet he stood stood looking longingly at the road. Varamayacağınız a lover of a lover’s house any more so the way I look at how the judging. I know it’s right there; beautiful there, but I’m tired, my knees stopped. I also understand that the job başaramayacağımı. I was alone, so I was alone. Me takers, if required, they had me go that way, addressing my yetiniyorlardı remotely. Wanted to encourage me to rejoice in how much sevinirsem, nobody by my side Seeing me sad.
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