Countable Things



- You’re cold. Wait, let me give you my coat.
+ Thank you but I’m fine as is. Also it keeps one young, keeps one alive.
- Oh don’t say that. You’re always young, always beautiful. Also, would such move suit a gentleman like myself?
+ Oh you. Neither I am young anymore, nor let such a chivalry exist anymore.
- Who says! Would such a thing ever be? No way, let me...
+ Stop. See how many layers I am already. We’re sitting so peacefully, aren’t we? Perhaps these are the last cold days, they have a charm of their own.
- …
+ …
- Oh, these ways of yours... Both humble and playing hard. Let it be; it doesn't discourage me.
The whole world will hear how much I love you! Oh, if you only knew that I keep uttering your name, if you only knew…
I count my steps towards you. I count my nights without sleep. I count the streets and the avenues I pass. You in beautiful dresses, festive days, large tables I count.
+ And the things you give up, your days that passed. And the flowers you picked, you count.
- Yes, yes! I dive into deep seas to see, shout from highest mountains. You deserve the very best of everything.
+ But, you count the things that are countable.
You only see with your eyes.
You only possess with your touch.
Indeed, all your beautiful words are a lump in my throat.
All the things you lay before me are nothing like embroidered cloths; they, day by day, resemble curtains of gray fog.
Before me, after me.
Because neihghter my memories can fit between us, nor our tomorrows are pages on a tear off calendars.
On my right and on my left, I cannot find you through all this fog;
nor can you ever see me.

T5 Goldenhorn Tram Line Construction (Eyüpsultan, 2017) © Çağlar Ongan


Related Content: