Gulhan
@gulhansa
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Struggling, pushing as hard as I can, that's what life is, to me. It begins with a cry, finds peace in breathlessness, and the in-between is all effort. I'm tired of fighting, worn out by living. I say I have no purpose left. Alright, sit down, take a breath. Coasting downhill is easy, but can we rest a moment before climbing up again? Sure, but life slips away right there, in the spaces between. We have to keep pushing. We have to believe. In ourselves, in a stranger, in family, maybe a god or many, if needed.
I think that's something you admired in me, this relentless struggle. And I think you're the one I trust most in that struggle. Shadows cloud my mind, but I've seen the proof, when I fight, something happens. Yet here I am, doubting. Time? Take all you need. But anyone who cries out about their burden must have come to love it, right? Just like those worn-out sweatpants, the spot where you sit has also given way. Isn't it harder to imagine moving toward me?
I keep calling you, so the fire in you d… 0 reply
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Here I am, on a train from Zurich to Lugano, staring out the window like some cliché traveler in a movie. But come on, look at this view! Snowy peaks, absurdly green fields, and that perfect slice of fog hanging over the hills. I had to take a picture. Not for social media, haven't touched Instagram in years. This one's for me, for the little thrill in my chest that whispers, "You're really here."
So, I snap it, capturing mountains that seem too epic to be real and a glimpse of my own reflection in the glass. Not the perfect shot, who am I, Ansel Adams? But it's mine, messy reflections and all. This isn't the kind of happiness you broadcast, it's the quiet, smug joy of knowing you're somewhere beautiful without needing a hundred likes to prove it.
Will I remember this photo? Maybe, maybe not. It'll get buried in my camera roll, a tiny relic of a passing moment. But right now, as the train glides through the Swiss landscape, this picture is my little reminder that I was here, living my own private, absur… 0 reply
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I was just wandering through Florence, lost in my own thoughts, when I turned a corner aaaand BAAM! There it was, right in front of me: Abduction of a Sabine Woman. This massive, intense sculpture, right on the street, like Florence casually decided to drop a Renaissance masterpiece in my path. I couldn't help but stare, wine in hand, caught between awe and confusion.
The details were incredible, oh muscles, movement, frozen drama. I found myself giving the characters personalities in my head. The guy at the bottom? Probably thinking, "I'm carrying both of you?" The woman reaching up? Likely muttering, "I did not sign up for this." People passed by like it was nothing, but I was transfixed, as if I'd uncovered a hidden gem.
I stood there, grinning, trying to soak it all in, Florence casually tossing art my way like it's no big deal. Eventually, I pulled myself away, but my mind kept drifting back to that Sabine woman. Caught in chaos, yet calm, like she's just accepted it.
And as I walked away, one stra… 0 reply
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I wandered through the park, minding my own business, when I stumbled upon her. Not some mystical enchantress, but this tree... A tree so sprawling it looked less like branches and more like an army of wild serpents.
Standing under it felt like stepping into a myth where I'd turn to stone if I stared too long. It was Medusa in plant form, each branch poised to coil around clueless wanderers. And yet, there I was, willingly standing in its tangled shadow.
It just stood there. Rooted. "Not much of a conversationalist, are you?" I muttered, feeling oddly disappointed. But those branches darting up, down, twisted like they were trying to shake off centuries of stillness had a strange pull. I could almost hear it say, "Been here a while. Seen things. Done things. Who are you to question me?”"
I leaned in, whispering, "Well, Medusa, you may not move, but you've got the whole world wrapped around your branches." It stood silent and smug, and I swear, just for a second, one of those twisted branches moved. 0 reply
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I look up and see those shoes hanging, swaying in the cold breeze, right beneath the red light. It's strange how something so ordinary like a pair of shoes and a traffic signal can stir up this deep, aching feeling. That red light feels like a warning, a call to stop, as if life itself is telling me to pause, to think. It's a reminder of all the moments I felt held back, caught in place, waiting for some green light to push me forward.
Those shoes, left behind, feel like an echo of all the dreams left hanging, all the hopes stalled at a red light, unable to move. I think about how often I've stood at my own crossroads, stuck in hesitation, uncertain of what lies beyond if I just go. The light remains red, the shoes dangle, and life feels suspended, caught between here and the unknown.
Yet, maybe there's a kind of hope in that waiting. Maybe, just like at any light, there's a promise that it'll eventually turn green. Maybe we're all just waiting, holding on, believing that one day, we'll be able to step f… 0 reply
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