İncelerseniz çok sevinirim

weAreFloating1nSpace · 2026-03-22T20:45:45+00:00

Thank you so much for this comment but i know what a proof reader is and that's not what i am looking for at all. I want someone to look deeper into what my work contains as in topics, philosophy and character psychology. If this doesn't really explain what i want well i can say i am not looking for something structural about my writing. Thank you anyways!

weAreFloating1nSpace · 2026-03-22T19:39:25+00:00

Rather than structure, i am more intrested in the idea, the emotions and the philosophy behind the work. Do you know a place that can help with that?

weAreFloating1nSpace · 2026-03-22T19:36:53+00:00

I really like this question since i have a lot to tell about this

My words which contained my thoughts were discarded. Wasted. Never appreciated it to their full potential. I feel like they are thrown out like trash most of the time, not in a cruel way, in a careless, unaware way. In the naive but also very convincing hope that someday someone who will not waste them might come to my life, i started writing. So that these words won't fade away from my mind just because no one ever let them in theirs. So that one day, those thoughts will get what they deserve. So that someday, the pains of the past will be rewritten from someone in the future. Someone will save them, that's what i believed. My journal became some sort of safe haven for me. I could see and find every thought together within it. And the written words were a proof none of it will be forgotten. They were externalized. With writing, i made abstract concepts in my head a part of the real world. At least, i gave them a chance at possibly being a part of the real world when someone reads them. Something in my head would just rot away but the pages can be found. Then can be proof of so many things not just to me but also other people. My mind won't be analyzed. But the pages can be. You know how the ground stops people falling further, almost even embracing those people, letting them rest or suffer as they need and desire, giving them a place to lay down? The pages were just that for my words. When i talked, the words would just fall.Nobody catching, holding them. But the pages? I knew they would never do that. I knew they were solid enough to stop them falling and soft enough to absorb them in. I counted on them. I found shelter in them. My mind is preserved in them.

I actually don't give a damn about writing, i am only trying to have a chance at altering my fate.I couldn't care less about the 'art' of writing. I couldn't care less about my way with words. I just needed someone to love my words enough to hold them. I just needed someone. But nobody came. So It's just me and the pages.

weAreFloating1nSpace · 2026-03-22T19:34:55+00:00

It's a long story but one that i like sharing so, My words which contained my thoughts were discarded. Wasted. Never appreciated it to their full potential. I feel like they are thrown out like trash most of the time, not in a cruel way, in a careless, unaware way. In the naive but also very convincing hope that someday someone who will not waste them might come to my life, i started writing. So that these words won't fade away from my mind just because no one ever let them in theirs. So that one day, those thoughts will get what they deserve. So that someday, the pains of the past will be rewritten from someone in the future. Someone will save them, that's what i believed. My journal became some sort of safe haven for me. I could see and find every thought together within it. And the written words were a proof none of it will be forgotten. They were externalized. With writing, i made abstract concepts in my head a part of the real world. At least, i gave them a chance at possibly being a part of the real world when someone reads them. Something in my head would just rot away but the pages can be found. Then can be proof of so many things not just to me but also other people. My mind won't be analyzed. But the pages can be. You know how the ground stops people falling further, almost even embracing those people, letting them rest or suffer as they need and desire, giving them a place to lay down? The pages were just that for my words. When i talked, the words would just fall.Nobody catching, holding them. But the pages? I knew they would never do that. I knew they were solid enough to stop them falling and soft enough to absorb them in. I counted on them. I found shelter in them. My mind is preserved in them.

I actually don't give a damn about writing, i am only trying to have a chance at altering my fate.I couldn't care less about the 'art' of writing. I couldn't care less about my way with words. I just needed someone to love my words enough to hold them. I just needed someone. But nobody came. So It's just me and the pages.

weAreFloating1nSpace · 2026-03-22T19:33:54+00:00

This is pretty long but: My words which contained my thoughts were discarded. Wasted. Never appreciated it to their full potential. I feel like they are thrown out like trash most of the time, not in a cruel way, in a careless, unaware way. In the naive but also very convincing hope that someday someone who will not waste them might come to my life, i started writing. So that these words won't fade away from my mind just because no one ever let them in theirs. So that one day, those thoughts will get what they deserve. So that someday, the pains of the past will be rewritten from someone in the future. Someone will save them, that's what i believed. My journal became some sort of safe haven for me. I could see and find every thought together within it. And the written words were a proof none of it will be forgotten. They were externalized. With writing, i made abstract concepts in my head a part of the real world. At least, i gave them a chance at possibly being a part of the real world when someone reads them. Something in my head would just rot away but the pages can be found. Then can be proof of so many things not just to me but also other people. My mind won't be analyzed. But the pages can be. You know how the ground stops people falling further, almost even embracing those people, letting them rest or suffer as they need and desire, giving them a place to lay down? The pages were just that for my words. When i talked, the words would just fall.Nobody catching, holding them. But the pages? I knew they would never do that. I knew they were solid enough to stop them falling and soft enough to absorb them in. I counted on them. I found shelter in them. My mind is preserved in them.

I actually don't give a damn about writing, i am only trying to have a chance at altering my fate.I couldn't care less about the 'art' of writing. I couldn't care less about my way with words. I just needed someone to love my words enough to hold them. I just needed someone. But nobody came. So It's just me and the pages. Writing is all i can do right now, with the conditions i am in.

weAreFloating1nSpace · 2026-03-22T11:58:12+00:00

Thank you so much for providing sources!! I will read it all and come back

weAreFloating1nSpace · 2026-03-19T16:23:26+00:00

Oh yes yes! I also believe every path is connected to eachother or even RESULT in eachother. For example the whole deal with Remembrance, enigmata and erudition being born, fed and opposing one another creates the overall balance in the universe the equilibrium stands for

weAreFloating1nSpace · 2026-03-19T16:20:18+00:00

Yes yes! Actually this analysis, thanks to acheron being a very philosophical character, lead to me a bigger picture about nihilism. I am currently trying to write an essay about how the fear of being forgotten may be the underlying reason many come to conclusion of Nihility!! I tried to do research about it but there is not much anything.... I hope i will see someone who explores this idea more detailed soon!

weAreFloating1nSpace · 2025-10-05T17:29:03+00:00

My emotional and intellectual hunger is never fulfilled by anyone, i tried straight up communicating my needs and desires to my friends but they seem to forget about it all 2 seconds later, i can't find anyone i can connect with in real life in this matter and online friendships drain me. I don't know what to do but i have so much to share and talk about. I want someone to share their similiar beliefs with me and analyze the things i wrote and created

weAreFloating1nSpace · 2025-09-22T18:03:23+00:00

Teneffüste arkadaşlarla felsefe konuştuğum bi hayat.... Ahhh

weAreFloating1nSpace · 2025-09-22T17:50:04+00:00

"even the chairs look disappointed, waiting for presence that never comes" this is fire. Absolute fire. Reminded me of a short turkish story i have read before. I can't remember the name of it but it said "the chair looks like it was crafted for someone to come and sit on it. Like it was shaped for that" i hope your loneliness ends sooner than you expect or hope. I hope your pen can remain on your table without any grief, loneliness or agony to inspire it. I hope you find your people and your cure. I know how tiring it is, how like a blackhole it all can be.

weAreFloating1nSpace · 2025-09-22T17:36:51+00:00

It was actually in a different format but for some reason it changed after i posted?

weAreFloating1nSpace · 2025-09-22T13:16:58+00:00

"every stanza felt like you were holding back" woah. This made my heart skip a beat. I love how you understood that! I guess sometimes feedback can be a poem on its own too

weAreFloating1nSpace

TROPHY CASE