Sometimes I want you to think of me, sometimes I want to forget all about you… It’s not the thing I want to leave home… You are playing this game as an escapee… You are sitting with your brown hair as a blond one… You know nothing about English literature history but you read sonnets from Shakespeare, sometimes you are all in silence, but you tell me you were talking about me and my face, you want me to believe that you are a fast driver at night, but you always ask if there is a speed limit or not, you pray for me to live longer but you offer me more cigarettes by saying “you’re so beautiful behind the smoke!”, you trust me, but you are always asking why I am late, you believe in me, you are always losing in more and more questions, you want me by you, and you leave me alone for hours as you need time to think about everything, you dance the flamenco with no rhythm and speed, you are so motionless to be followed on the street, you tell how you love me deeply, you are always watching other beautiful eyes, you are always the most compassionate lover but you fall asleep while I am crying, you always sing me French songs but you have never known the meaning of even one word in French, “M’aimes-tu?”,  I have some real suspense and doubt if I really love the blond man or brown one…

The Lover In Love
Hülya Uçar.

Dear Martin,

I am in a white tower tonight. A lonely big room. Nobody is able to hurt me at the moment. There is no ogre. Every room in the white tower is really kind to me. I can’t stand being on real streets anymore tonight. I discovered this secret tower while I was walking along the dark road. This is the night I’ve had blues again. I thought  it may be better for me to pass the night here safe. Far away from honks, loud voices, rush. I am available to live on my own tonight. There are great short stories lying on the wood floor and very long poems going upstairs in the white tower to pass the night tonight. Every basic need to survive in life is nearby me. I have very long hair tonight. If you wonder the stories in the white tower, you might come over tonight. I won’t be here tomorrow. This is the only time I will be reading the story of the white tower. Tomorrow? Who knows? This is the plan only for tonight. No more stories belong to the white tower will be living with me again. This is a kind and friendly invitation to make you dream the white tower stories. Coming or not… I have very very long hair tonight. We will not need perfect translations of human behaviour to get along as we have known each other for centuries. Everything will be easy. I promise, the white tower is confident. As you, as me, as years… As blues walking around empty streets in decades which we had been two children many years ago. I need your frankly friendship tonight. I have always wanted to wander around in a secret story which the plot was written by two writers at the same night with blues as dreamy as we have missed everything we missed in years. Time is never the same time. This white tower is foggy enough to make us invisible in a story to be two main characters who will be unknown forever. I have very very long hair tonight.

The Secret Letter
Hülya Uçar.

Dear Martin, with all my confusions, then; my fears, at last, my joylessness… I am here. I decided on staying here. The best thing to do at the moment is being motionless. I’m only drinking cups of coffee and sitting here and away. Don’t make any sentences cause I’m not listening to you and your advice right now. I’m thinking about all evil and kindness in my life. I wonder where you are now. What should I do now? To believe you or not… The strange is I’m coming back from all your long stories and looking forward to seeing you in another long story. Is being with you inevitable? Days and nights are passing in a way, you are losing the key on an avenue, as soon as it begins to rain, the story starts with its all longlessness. I am here. It is an August night on an avenue in the rain… Passing all the walkers, drivers, riders, pipe dreamers, I am sitting motionless. Thinking of you, Dear Martin. Thinking of you…

The Lover’s Letters
Hülya Uçar.