Don’t Tell Me …

Don't tell me ...

Don’t tell me to calm down. Don’t push me deeper against that wall that won’t let me see any further. Don’t tell me not to be sad. Don’t tell me… They’re just empty words.

Don’t tell me to calm down because that’s exactly what I can’t do. Don’t push me deeper against that wall that won’t let me see any further. Don’t tell me not to be sad because I can’t find joy or fun in this situation at all. In fact, I can’t find a foothold at all where I could breathe even for a moment, so it’s not necessarily about will or strength. I really don’t want to be like this, I don’t want to feel this way.

Also, don’t punish my forgetfulness because I didn’t want to leave the light on or the door open, and I didn’t want to give that gift to him who would find it forgotten in a bar stool. That way you won’t help me. I know it’s the first thing that comes to mind, but you’re not going to help me that way. Your punishment is ridiculous because it only adds to my anxiety and insecurity; It doesn’t make me any less lost – and no, it doesn’t remove the feeling I feel of my negligence double when it bothers you or harms you.

Don’t tell me to calm down because that’s exactly what I can’t do and don’t push me deeper against that wall that won’t let me see any further

That’s what I told you while I was thinking about other things

Also, don’t point your finger at the same goal I want because my problem isn’t making a mistake in my goal. Rather, I don’t find that way and that way to get to the place we both think.

That’s why the anxiety you tell me to scare it away is churning inside me. That (), let’s call it stubborn and stubborn, feeds itself on the inability you add with your words. I feel honesty. I ask you not to be angry so that it does not turn into excessive honesty.

Don’t tell me… what I’ve already told you because you’re making me feel even smaller in a state I can’t control at the moment. So don’t ask me to breathe underwater. It’s about getting to the surface, being able to find the opening through which light creeps in, and making the opening a bigger hole. Let us join forces instead of just sitting in your seats to calibrate my forces. 

Also, if you listen to me, we can begin to speak the language of understanding, throwing away the tower of Babel and building the tower of intimacy. Well, it would be more than a tower, it would be a bridge that I can use to bring you closer to those conditions and obstacles that seem huge to me. It’s huge, and it doesn’t matter how much an objective bystander wouldn’t be able to see anything but a single line that even the most clumsy wouldn’t stumble upon. Don’t tell me… don’t be that person (clumsy).

Don’t tell me, don’t help me; if you don’t want to, if you can’t. Don’t take the meaning away from my problems to get through them faster. I understand if you have your own problems and your own world. In this sense, I ask you not to disguise the polite visits of those afternoons that are remembered to begin with despair and end with hope, so that silence does not throb along with hurry, because time is not important. So, if you’ve come here to sneak on your toes, we’re not going to make wine.

Don’t tell me, don’t ask me in a message how I can. Less when you know I’m not well. I would be happy to lie to you, to give you permission to move on. You can go cooking and watch your favorite set while organizing your kitchen. You can arrive on time for your next appointment.

I’m not going to get angry if you close your senses to the wind and the noise of work, mixed with the noise of children and birds that cut through the fall or stretch the first afternoons of spring

Don’t tell me… They’re just empty words

Don’t tell me anything… When you have nothing to say. I’m not going to be angry if you close your senses to the wind and the noise of work, mixed with the noise of children and birds that cut through the fall or stretch the first afternoons of spring. Actually, when I tell you “don’t tell me anything,” I want to say share with me what you want, without flying over the horizon that intersects the present.

That’s how you help me. I’d rather spend a moment with you, where open communication can accommodate a dozen encounters, each looking at one of the moon’s faces. In return, I suggest that we repeat the moment we settled on the ground, looked at the sky, and thought it was a kind of very dark blue blanket into which some villain had made holes and through which light peeked mischievously. (Writes…) Shh, don’t tell me because at that moment you told me little, in fact you did nothing (when nothing was scary).

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