Postcards from Istanbul /1

“What impels me to write you all the time? Before I can even turn around to look, from the unique destination, unique you understand me, unnameable and invisible, that bears your name and has no other face than your own, before I can even turn around for a question, at every moment the order to write you is given, no matter what, but to write you, and I love, and this is how I recognize that I love.” – Jacques Derrida


Day 1:

My love, what a long day this has been. Hours without sleep, without you. And then finally I am here. Every street corner I am wishing for you. Every facade, every building, each tram, each glint of the sun upon the sea carries within it your name. Your name, your face, I am not without you. Not for one second.



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