Turky.

Across closely put contenents, i visited the wounder of orginized turkish lights.
I visted history, i visited roman battle sights and roman shrined and a pinch of onflwing roman mythology. But there was a part of me, that could almost smell, the stail cent of extravagent misery.
I visited the asian side, my history. My teratory, my ansestors unleashed ,in quivery.
I stand upon yhe well decorated streets of turky, there is something about this country, that crawls up to me, infesting my holes of loss, my holes of unsymitry, it's litiriture,it's far too bitter coffe, it's faintly lit cities, allowing a crak of a room for privicy.
It's almost everywhere sence of poetry.
I have a girl who's been unfaithful to me, her mother snatched away her sence of fadility. I could always see a slip of an orang strand out of her velvet hanckerchif, covering her relitavly small head, her hair, once sneaking out, almost aleays seems as if it were sit on a great heap of fire.