Once upon a time, I believe that somewhere in this city, we will make it. You and I, in this dog-eat-world proving the cynic and the jaded wrong and that everything is possible in the realm of the superficial. You are my poorly written history and this love affair took its toll on me. Yet, I regret the time that you are the risk I didn’t take. You are a lot of things, but I realised I never took the leap nor the plunge to be truly be with you. Maybe because I am scared and this feeling that you evoked; the need that soon I will realise and share with you. You were intense to the point of being controlling. You wrap your rage in velvet softness, yet I would find myself recoiling. I know you will break me, you did so once, and you gradually put me together, piece by piece, in your own phase and by that, you declared your sense of ownership. I, who breathe on my independence, let you take the reigns and that time, we were happy, I was happy to sit on the sidelines as I watch you make things work out, for me mostly.
Yet we were wrong, we are both volatile and untrusting. We want to be each others' adrenaline and we fall short. We would walk out on each other, slam the car doors, slam the goddamn phone and I would close my eyes and struggle not to cry. You would swear and cursed and pull me to your chest and wrap me violently I would gasped for breath. I would demand for my freedom, you will coldly turn your back, taunt me with your silence and we will both sleep with our prides and wake up making love to a wall.
By now, I realised you are my definition, and I would be that one who probably got away. Maybe we will make it someday, but not in this city, hurtful as it might sound; maybe not in this lifetime. But I will always remember you with fondness and perhaps, regret, and I would kiss the soils of Istanbul in homage to you.
