Thousands of sails compete in the Golden Horn Bay, leaving a cigarette on the shore. This is still the city of travelers, the city of lonely people, Uzak, that is the city in the distance.
The beauties here are coquettish or with delicate faces and light steps. A godsend encounter doesn't belong to most people, even though movie theaters are tirelessly showing them. You just see them in a hurry, walking through the snow, sometimes holding a warm hand in a corner of the city.
Placing a house is like building an ancient castle. This is a traveler's castle. The arrival of distant relatives brings the taste of a foreign land. Isn't the unbearable taste at this moment the signal that he left to this city in the first place? changed, changed. With a little more self-esteem, the words and music on the bookshelf flowed quietly in my heart, and the relatives who had saved for eight lifetimes were far away. The pocket watch evokes what kind of memory, find it and find it, quickly close the wooden box, I would rather leave another person's debt than reveal a trace.
The mother may be the last concern in the country. Taking the bottle still requires my mother's guidance. The sick mother is chattering about quitting smoking. The two backs gradually disappearing from the hospital corridor are so real. However, you must go back. The snow-riddled Istanbul is the home where Odysseus finally returns.
Continue to be alone in the hotel, continue to be the stereotype and creativity of filming; continue to be intellectual in the study, continue to be reprimanded as "irresponsible" in the hometown; continue to peep, continue to cover up. The lover is gone forever, even if she carries more reluctance and pain; the former visitor also becomes a crew member in a distant place, leaving behind a pack of cigarettes that you ignore; only the bug car is still there, and the castle is still there. ...... This lonely heart is sensitively closed at any time, and opened when no one is cared for, just like this city.
Everyone has an Istanbul in their hearts, and this cliché is not fate.
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