Wanting to express love is like trying to create the taste of your mother's cooking in the dishes you make with your hands. It is something that is difficult to explain and felt when tasted...
I have not counted how many forms of love there are, but I know that there are thousands of meanings hidden in every form and definition of love. Love has been mentioned for centuries, but it has not only been experienced hand in hand. Kafka, Milena in letters, Leyla Mecnun in the mountains, Paris and Helen in the middle of a war, among fireballs, but actually they are all in the heart...
So, what made us think so much about love?
Love, "It" is hidden in love, in love, in love, in all its states, to love every state of it with love. I'm sure we would all say something different about the definition of loving with love, just like the definition of love. What most of us understand is to love with enthusiasm, and it is this enthusiasm that is truly difficult to describe. What kind of mental eclipse is it when you see that object, that being you call love, like the silent scream of that enthusiasm inside you when you go to bed at night, a sound that no one can hear but loud enough to shatter all your windows. Doing everything willingly that you do unwillingly when he is not in your life, being tolerant, like the voice in your heart making your hands, knees and hair tremble..
When I look at the history of this intense feeling, I see thousands of stories. Each of us experienced love differently. I say to Milena, "I love you the most in my life, but I guess this is not real love, you are a knife, I constantly pierce my insides with that knife, if I say, I think I would be expressing real love." Kafka wrote thousands of yellow papers to Milena, whom he saw only 3 times in 3 years, and kept his deepest feelings alive in his letters.
Mimar Sinan, who depicted his love for Mihrimah Sultan between the minarets of two mosques on the most beautiful hills of Istanbul. Mihri mah literally symbolized love. Mihr is the sun, mah is the moon, Mihri is the meeting of the moon and the sun... When we look at the evening of March 21, we witness the sunset on the minaret of the Edirne Kapı Mosque and the moonrise between the two minarets of the Üsküdar mosque. When viewed from a hill in Istanbul that sees both hills, is it possible not to bow before Sinan's love for Mihri Mah Sultan? Sinan kept this love alive in his work.
When it comes to love in history, what comes to mind is eternity. While it was a feeling that could not be expressed, and it required courage to experience it and even to express it, how we have come to assign a lifetime to love today. Some said 3 years, some said 4, some said love has no age, and some criticized lovers who did not match the age range in their mind. It became popular on some social networks, and letters were replaced by messages. We thought that as the accessibility of the lover increased, the accessibility of love increased. However, love has mutated, we have started to think that every bearded person is love.
When love turned its face towards us, it found all the palaces and cities in burnt ruins. Because love ceased to be love and turned into a controlled emotion trapped in selfishness and insecurity. Love was unexpected in Paris Helen, Kafka Milena, M. Sinan Mihri mah and others…
Nowadays, we consume everything quickly, first the words became shorter and then the conversations became less. The smell of your favorite soup coming from the kitchen no longer made you happy or satisfied, and hunger gave way to dissatisfaction. Little black boxes that direct our lives; The TV and computer separated our pillows and then our beds. Small mechanization movements pushed people from production to consumption, people started to spend more time with machines, the Mediterranean smile on their faces gave way to the Siberian cold; Unhappy expressions increased. The sense of competition brought ambition, race of ambition, jealousy, envy and all these brought insecurity. The house keys left to the neighbor so that "my flowers won't die while I'm on holiday" were replaced by "oh, we'll buy a new one". Loves also had their share of all these mentioned.
As the person's area of self-realization narrowed, dissatisfaction increased and with dissatisfaction, passion died. We have come to believe that the heads laid on the pillow for one night will feed the egos. However, egos took a blow. We left passion to momentary relief in order to prove our self-confidence and our power to the other person, and many mistook it for passion. In the meantime, respect ended.
Competition turned “we” into “me”. And the "I"s spoken before the "we" hit the backbone of the responsibility to maintain the relationship. Because attachment was now wrong, attachment meant losing "I", they made me believe this, but they did not think that there would be no me without us. This is how all the temples were destroyed.
The closeness, passion and devotion that constitute love left behind a huge mole and left. All that remains are the loves that we spent a lifetime calling as summer love...
Hoping that your love becomes a mihri mah...
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