For a kiss, she jumps over a bridge of thorns and crosses a river of drowned people to reach what she wants. For she felt instinctively and instinctively that the whole of existence was not equal to that moment when the kiss became an eternal moment. Whenever they meet in the heat of promise, the walls of fear melt away and the barriers of time, people and space crumble under their embrace. Only he who puts life under the microscope and examines its meaning knows the value of the eternal kiss, and realizes that the pursuit of fleeting things runs to nothingness. True life is measured by the values ​​we live by, the highest of which is, of course, pure, pure love. One of the wonders of love is that a person achieves complete dissolution in the kiss of life. It’s a kiss that blooms when you touch a rose. If a lover prints it on the mirror, she will find herself. The same kiss we imprint on the head of a mother who sacrificed for us and on the forehead of a father, the same kiss that a knight draws on the point of his sword in a moment of great victory.
How good it is to kiss things deeply. I know a madman who kissed the trees and shouted: These are all my mothers. In my childhood, I met an old man who kissed his cane and called it: “Adi is the last one to go with me.” Then, running in my youth, I stumbled so much that I would climb trees, walls, and fences from the impact to find out what lay beyond this horizon, my hands and knees bruised and bleeding again, and my mother’s kiss was enough to heal me.
Today, wherever I go I accept the noble meanings. I embraced scriptures from childhood and still do. I started adapting and adapting some great books. I clearly realized that a man who kisses his children every day sows a seed of goodness in their hearts. Gradually, the kiss became an approach to poetry, speech, action, meaning and purpose.
If a kiss in adoration is a sign of love, it is also a rare act of gratitude. Like kissing the hand that gives and kissing the hand that soothes. It was like pouring sweet words like a stream of kisses on the foreheads of those waiting for a glimmer of hope. There are those who go to kiss the images of the dead, leaving their noble traces in the folds and memories of the soul.
What happens from kiss to heart to heart? What else but for this universe to tremble and tremble, and for all the remnants of ashes to fall from its body, and to return again bright, alive, and bright?