Korigjime

I can't sleep without music on my bedside.Since my chilhood.

At least that old love song which come from this little musicbox should sing.

Definitely, it takes me very old days' unforgetable pictures.

Human memory is such a weird!

Supposing that this pictures come alive suddenly, their colours choosen again, they blow you there from there in the old years as if you are in a damaged time machine.

İmages and times mix each other.

We can't know which smell belongs which memory.

But maybe we can know which one is more valuable for us, when the images course as they as if they are crossing the windows of a fast train, one of them shines for a little moment and we want to go back that moment, that image, that unique feeling that we couldn't notice when we felt it; most than everything.

Some people haven't got a home.

I spend my life by moving there from there; in hotel rooms, temporary homes, on the roads...

Now I don't remember that houses which in different corners of the world.

They say: "Remembering is good." No, it isn't.

Even if the memories make us smile for a moment, they will go away as if never exist when we extend our hands for touching them.

Have if our way the memories give only pain.

I don't have any affection to the things, or any habits to keep the memories.Actually, I often avoid memorice the pictures on my mind.

But in the truth; didn't my whole life's pictures come so far with me?

This text belongs "Kürşat Başar (Başucumda Müzik)".

I'm just trying to translate.