I’m dying for not being able to hear the noise of someone who once came out of my gut,
and because a simple conversation of more than one minute without rest makes my whole defense mecca stand on guard as if I had to fight with thousands of soldiers who come from the opposite side.
I die because I can not be a mother even if I am,
Because I neither can be a daughter nor for 5 minutes,
Because I can not be friends even for a second,
All because I am only a reflection of what I was,
And if you approach and touch me, there is only emptiness.