My heart is a ghost in two cities,
haunted by the shape of your name.
In Paris, I seek you in the gray morning mist,
a flâneur wandering streets that feel empty
without the weight of your hand in mine.
I sip my coffee black, bitter as the distance,
whispering je t'aime into the steam,
hoping the wind carries it south.
But my soul ,my soul is in Istanbul.
It is pacing the shoreline of the Bosphorus,
watching the ferries cut through the blue
like a blade through a heavy silk curtain.
There is a hasret ,a yearning that is so deep
it tastes like salt and ancient dust.
I am a dervish spinning in the center of a void,
dizzy with the scent of your neck,
of amber, tobacco, and the rain on the stones.
I do not want a love that is easy or light.
I want the Turkish fire that burns the house down,
and the French silence that lingers in the halls after.
I am waiting for you in the ache between breaths,
where the West meets the East,
and my heart finally meets its rest.
Jan 11
Jan 11, 2026 at 8:52 AM UTC
My heart is a ghost in two cities,
haunted by the shape of your name.
In Paris, I seek you in the gray morning mist,
a flâneur wandering streets that feel empty
without the weight of your hand in mine.
I sip my coffee black, bitter as the distance,
whispering je t'aime into the steam,
hoping the wind carries it south.
But my soul ,my soul is in Istanbul.
It is pacing the shoreline of the Bosphorus,
watching the ferries cut through the blue
like a blade through a heavy silk curtain.
There is a hasret ,a yearning that is so deep
it tastes like salt and ancient dust.
I am a dervish spinning in the center of a void,
dizzy with the scent of your neck,
of amber, tobacco, and the rain on the stones.
I do not want a love that is easy or light.
I want the Turkish fire that burns the house down,
and the French silence that lingers in the halls after.
I am waiting for you in the ache between breaths,
where the West meets the East,
and my heart finally meets its rest.