Jump to ratings and reviews
Rate this book

Dreaming: And other shortcuts to seeing you

Rate this book
I used to put numbers as titles. I think this was a way not to delete anything and not be able to censor what I felt at that time.

When I was 8, my aunt gave me a notebook to write down my feelings. She sometimes gave me ideas to paraphrase what I've written but never told me to change a word, which I carried through hard times in high school.

I don’t want to say that these notes would please everyone. I write not to forget, but I also tell people that I am not ashamed to love, fail, or feel not enough at times in my life.

I decided to put numbers as the title of this book, a defense mechanism not to tell me to remove anything from this.

P.s: This is me originally writing in Farsi, my mother tongue. The language I use when I am in love, when I am alive, and when I want to write all I feel in life.

24 pages, Kindle Edition

Published August 14, 2022

1 person is currently reading

About the author

Ratings & Reviews

What do you think?
Rate this book

Friends & Following

Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!

Community Reviews

5 stars
0 (0%)
4 stars
0 (0%)
3 stars
1 (100%)
2 stars
0 (0%)
1 star
0 (0%)
Displaying 1 of 1 review
Profile Image for Maryam Abolhassani.
2 reviews
Read
October 21, 2022
My gut feeling said we don't reach the end of the night. I wanted to tell you about life and the alley we thought was a dead-end, but it was another alley covered with ivy flowers.
I told you, "I was afraid to live until I became introduced to other sorrows; I saw myself fighting for each of them, realizing that I adore life."

Cars are still driving on the street. They move fast, turning the traffic lights red and diverting the pedestrians from the middle of the road to go back halfway. We stick our heads out the windows next to each other and bend out. You were staring at the street; I was looking at you from the window.
I recalled that we deeply felt to sink into each other's eyes and have meaningful conversations. I told you, “I'm ashamed of the days when I said to myself, I can't do it. I repeated to myself in the days, months, and years after I had said quite ugly things to myself."

We had to go home. You never said what I wanted to hear. If it rained, flooded or the sun came up in the middle of the night, I would still tell you about life and how much I admire being alive.
You assumed that I must have written for "somebody," lived for "somebody," and closed my eyes to the tiny teeny words I shared with you.

In the future, I will write to you,
-whenever I found you-
Reading to you: "You love life, and I love you."
Displaying 1 of 1 review