On Community's Response to Spring

Beaches. In our neighbour we have a market run by Mr. Eğri, a wise man out of West. We have Ms. Yemin who borrows apples from our garden, and then bring a cup of tea in advance to satisfy, respect the help. Our neighbour have Celal who still sneaks down the porches of houses, trying to get a slice of melon. Those don't happen regularly till a time, Spring. And even if it gets to happen more often the thrill could not step up enough to make my body explode out and about. Beaches, where I met all of those people at once, twice a week, seven days a weak. It doesn't really matter, I'm laying low anyways. I need smiles upon thy, thee, them peoples' faces. I need a cold tub, a home-made shower to bring me back to days, where I met and constructed a fake family up in my sleepy haze. I need a blue sky and a sea coming together at the end of the vision, a mosaic pointing straight towards me to repair the soul. Finally, the spring needs the neighbour to make it happen, a life of balance, going over the limit to avoid a piece, a single person's absence.