Sublime

I could not forget her.

During those carefree days when Füsun and I met every day in secret, I never asked myself such questions, behaving only like a child greedily gulping one sweet after another.

It was a love fed not by sexual appetite but by a fierce compassion,

The beauty of a landscape resides in its melancholy. —Ahmet Rasim

(Just as, almost by instinct, I find myself opening this parenthesis, suggesting that I have no desire, none at all, to recall this incident.)