armeneusa Liz Armeneusa

The story of those who hold on to their dreams while growing up...


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Living in Dreams



Dreams come first, then reality. Man always dreamed of being able to go to the sky he looked at. When Jules Verne, who wrote Journey to the Moon, was the voice of those who wish to go to the stars, dreams were first transferred to the pen and then to the paper. A century later, man set foot on the moon for the first time. Who can deny the supremacy of dreams now? That is why one must first dream.


Miracles are real. Because authors are miracles that can touch people's hearts. I believe writers are just another name for reaching the stars, touching hearts. They have an imagination far beyond ordinary people. They can take on any identity they want, or they can go anywhere they want. While showing this to us, I don't even mention the abilities they used.


There are always times when you are overwhelmed in your daily life. I guess I was in a gap. I was overwhelmed as I looked at people's indifference and the hustle and bustle of adults. A distress has filled my heart. As I looked at them, I was worried about the future.


It was a time when I felt lost. By isolating myself from everyone, I retreated to my shell and took refuge in my dreams. Because there was nobody there to tell me how to behave. I could be whatever I wanted there. Sometimes I was the hero of a fairy tale, sometimes a warrior who saved a kingdom.


My dreams, the world that came to life in my mind, seemed real. My hand tingling was enough for me to write. One day I picked up the pen. A world that I created in my dreams and that belongs only to me came to life. My characters were breathing. I was feeling sad with them. I was laughing with them. Despite everything, I was living with them.


Most of the time I made the rules, sometimes my characters made their own rules. Tired of being imprisoned in the world I created, my characters started a riot. They said they wanted to open up to the world. But that wasn't enough for them. They had to be shared.


They seized all my strength and I took the pen in my hand. The world I created in my mind was more real than ever when it was written. There were people breathing there, and it often feels more real than the world I live in. How can I leave this place? That's why I continued writing. By writing I built that world. Because if I stopped writing, it meant that I would destroy the world I built with my hands.


The people whose voices I heard seemed like the key to filling the feeling of emptiness in my heart. I was already lost. I was whispering to the wind with great silence. I am not telling anything about myself. I am trying to be the voice of the characters living in the world I created within me. If I don't write, one day I'll forget these characters and they'll never come back. And when I try to rewrite it, they'll turn into an old memory. They will no longer tell me anything to write their own stories.


I ask myself too. "Why do I want to be a writer?" I think I write mostly for myself. I find incredible peace. If my book was published one day, I would like my readers to feel the emotions of my book in their hearts. I must manage to touch the hearts of those we consider to be emotionless, heartless or unscrupulous. The world is full of people waiting to be won. This is why I want to see the tears of my readers. Because a beautiful heart that feels knows how to wash with tears.

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