Inhale. On a count of five...
Follow me, do it with me.
Inhale, on a count to five...
Stay with me, stay with me.
Yes, yes, that's good. That's good.
I should have told her there would be a change too.
but we're in a new phase.
I'm just a bad scrabbler.
Well, you have now, my silent observer.
Do you want to talk about it?
But, I fear that you wouldn't understand also.
There's no harm in trying.
But I wouldn't know where to start.
What phase after mourning?
Actually, no, it's not dangerous.
Just as our grief wasn't dangerous.
A main part of sicking of is physical:
missing, missing and much more missing...
There's no way around it.
I'm not gonna let her do that.
Will it just go on and on?
How were we that shall how are we now?
Didn't we just talk about that?
my grief pattern is atypical.
I think I long for you too much,
I should stop it, please, now.
Trust others to be smarter than me.
And I'm proud that I'm not
when I meet others like them.
There is nothing atypical about my grief.
A place I couldn’t even explain myself
it's a natural, emotional reaction.
I can't just destroy it, I mustn't.
Everyone knows I’m a scrabbler.
They say shouldn't treat myself and ourselves.
In principle I agree, but...
But I’m just so much smarter, am I?
I love doing like that, writing and commentating also,
to see the one that you miss
subjected to mistakes and wrongs.
as much about her as I do.
If I can't tell myself...
What is make me upset of,
maybe it would be easier for her to tell me,
Where would I feel most exciting?
Where would I feel most exposed?
What would be the best place?
A city, so weird isn’t it, my silent observer?
ıt was the first place I saw her.
Or what get excited me... there?
is supposed to happen in there.
Let's make a list of things I’m exciting of.
At the top, we put the situation
But I don't know what I'm exciting of.
Can't I just be exciting without a definite object?
at the top of the pyramid?
No... Not quite at the top.
Exposure - that's the only thing
Everything else is... just talk with her.
I have to have the courage to stay
in the situation that exciting me.
Feel the seat underneath her.
Feel herself sinking down into it...
What she feels is a pleasant warmth...
Imagine we are at there again.
at there through the woods.
Almost no birds can be heard.
The water is running without a sound.
Darkness comes out anytime here.
The little deers... are hiding,
among the ferns. As usual.
Is it difficult to walk there?
In fact, it's almost okay
And we will never be alone again
cause it doesn't happen every day
It should be easy, passing.
it's like walking through mud.
It has some strange kind of personality.
are we heading for the there?
We’re walking up the path
It's the outside I am exciting of.
On top of all the plants?
Yes, lie down on the plants.
What is everything like around us?
Now will I do what I ask her?
What do I want myself to do?
We were there. We did it.
Let feelings come, if it likes.
Remember: what the mind can
conceive and believe, it can achieve.
She’s always been distant from me and us.
Ever I come to think of it...
Can I give myself some examples from this?
Hell, that's not that difficult
to understand and explain.
Last autumn, for instance...
She was terribly distant last autumn.
And that was the last and first autumn,
I never interested like that...
Perhaps I'm not supposed to
There is nothing we can't talk about each other.
She is indifferent to whether
my thought is alive or dead.
I bet I had a lot of clever response.
Scrabblers like me replies to that, hadn’t I?
It was to honor her wish.
I wanted a something to write.
Perhaps I didn't mean it.
is that I wanted to write alone.
you and me were going to go to there,
That way, I could finish my sensation.
You see, my silent observer?
She didn’t even know that.
Why did I give up? That's not like me.
The whole project just seemed
when they had told my about my sensation:
never called your subject "glib".
Perhaps they didn't use that word,
but that's what they meant.
And all of a sudden, it was glib.
Or even was some, some kind of...
She sees a lot of things, but not that.
I shouldn't have started to tell here.
It's just, sometimes, I forget.
Myself talk with myself about is an obsession.
Obsessions never materialize.
Anxieties can't trick me into doing things
I can't be hypnotized into doing
something she wouldn't...
normally do, something she would…
You understand me, my silent observer?
Yeah, you think so, aren’t you?
Well, you can’t understand me, maybe feel what I say
all the thoughts that provoke my emotion...
All the things that she calls nature.
Okay, I’m ready as a Mr. Nature.
To wait me as much as she can.
How do you think, my silent observer?
By frightening to abandon me?
By feeling just like I fell to her?
We’re just the whole greenery outside.
You don't understand aren’t you.
I'm nature of all human beings.
That kind of nature interested me
a lot when I was up there.
the subject to my feelings.
But she shouldn't underestimate there and my feelings.
I discovered something else
in my thoughts than I expected.
then that goes as well...
The nature of all about her.
I do not control my mind -
I have it in writing in my books.
I do not know why I said it.
I can't work anymore now.
I've been bewaring of here before.
I just didn't know it was anxiety.
I became anxiety, and I have started writing.
What was different, the last time?
I heard a sound coming through deep of my heart.
It wasn't hearing its screaming.
And because I experienced something
that I can't explain rationally,
that triggered my feelings
and tied the emotional event with a place.
If she feels me, it's natural to react.
If the feeling become real,
My grief would save my life,
because my adrenaline would
be used for fight or flight.
But what I’m experiencing
is missing, nothing more. The grief wasn't real.
I am jumping to conclusions...
GÜZEL GÜNLER BİZİ BEKLER…
‘’Bütün şiirlerde söylediğim sensin
Suna dedimse sen, Leyla dedimse sensin’’
