The street can be seen through my window.


People are seen walking incessantly, suppressed by their own busy needs. It is all here - want, love, poverty, joy and richness - a gradual journey. I gather together the pages and again, try to resume writing the story. I haven't, even now, written anything other than the background of my life, attempting to better understand the meaning of love. I am living a life.   

I know, as with the crowds, slowly a dark cloud is forming over and within me. I stared at the moon and in my poems. In the meantime, my friend entered the room. She had make up painted all over her face and she appeared like an actress in a movie wearing a dress of the latest fashion.   
I slowly looked at her and smiled, " You like to enjoy.  But, life is not as easy as you think. Won't you give me a moment just to live.  She began to speak.   

"You haven't understood the meaning of life at all". I went on listening to what she said about me. Oh! How is it that I find some kind of similarity between me and the character I have created in my story? Does it not show that in the process of the
journey, she is going to get separated from me? If I am to tell the truth - I feel quite sad.

Actually, we love each other. I am also happy, she is getting married soon. In all honesty, to love her and yet not be able to share her happiness are contradictions, opposite feelings, and maybe it's due to these oppositions that she might have been angry with me in this way.
She went to the other side of the room, still speaking.  Outside, the evening was in darkness. People appeared on the street, sparingly now.