Bir buluşma yeridir şimdi hüzünlerimiz.
[It is a meeting place now, our sadness.]
— Edip Cansever, Meduza
…I wake up. I make coffee and look from my apartment at Bosporus. I’ve been training my eyes to see across continents, and my small words to hold much inside. For when Time comes empty-handed and people are little and there’s need to be in places I’ve never been. I can’t love a city, after all. I love history and make up what never happened. I am the craziest magic. I think, I have an affair with a woman that never existed. And if she did, she was born hundreds of years before me. So, it was strange when I woke up next to her, yesterday. She spoke in a tongue I do not speak. I returned from the kitchen with coffee, she had gone. And the door, it was locked. On my desk I found her yazma. I worried about my sanity, but the yazma has an Anatolian motif, an ancient motif. A lover does not hand her kerchief if she doesn’t intend to return. What can I do? I wake up. I make coffee and look, from my apartment in London, over at Bosporus…