somehow.
this sentence took a year or more to be written.

just for you
don't really know why i stopped writing online.
don't really know why i am starting to write online again.
it feels right, feels almost like, i should still drop hints of how i am going
to you

i am good.
getting used to the dirt & grim of this grandfather city
getting used to the accents, aspirations and attitudes of the busy streets
and the lonely quiet sunday streets
the rain still smells like home
if only it was under the rusty zinc roof

istanbul
airy spits and third fingers
from their little mouths and weak hands
hellos in english
from their smiling faces and toiled hands
different facets birthed from this divided continent
little one
its hard trying to love you
when they clothe you
with an amour of youthful ignorance
while i stand helplessly in front of you
bringing back with me, you.