Someday We’ll Smitten-Stumble through Every Lamplit Street

It’s 2:00 A.M. when she calls me,

not for a hookup of any kind like most late-night
dialers but something more intimate –
she asks me to walk her home,

even though I am 5,928 miles away.

It’s 6:00 P.M. here in Tennessee;
I watch the isolated setting sun, wish it a safe trip
as it travels to rise over her far-off skyline.

I pace my apartment in solidarity,

listen to car horns blare on her journey –
Ankara is yet another city that never sleeps.
She squeezes into the bus packed with rowdy groups

of friends, finds a single seat, and insists I talk

when she switches to text responses.
She wants to silence her voice for others
but still whisper sweet everythings to me.

I keep her company, distract her tired mind

from the shivers of nausea the bus brings.
I let her focus on the soothing murmur
of my voice instead of the tires jolting on pavement.

After nineteen lurched stops, she returns

to concrete paths, regales stories of strangers
that I will never see. She stops on the sidewalk
outside of a store, and I listen to her converse

in a language that, even after four years,

I struggle to speak. The words’ lilting tone
is the music that slow dances with my heart
rhythm and captivates my attention.

Once home, she stays on the call until she is lulled to sleep.
Her fatigued thoughts seek comfort before she dreams;

I am the comfort that burrows in her veins.

As she dozes, morning adhan drifts through the air

over our messengers’ audio static.

Although I don’t fully believe,

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I pray – for her, her safety, and her peace.
That someday, distance won’t always separate us,

and when I walk her home at night,

it won’t be from thousands of miles away.

Instead, when she walks home,

I’ll be by her side. Hand in hand,

we’ll travel the world together,

smitten-stumble through every lamplit street,

weave laughter through city traffic

at 3:23 in still-sweltering summer heat.

I pray that our walks will never cease

and that we will always race daylight

as our pulses match the pace of our soles

on the concrete until we find a place we belong,

knowing our feet will still dance to the music

of our interlaced languages every time we speak.

I love you.
Seni seviyorum.

I need you.
Sana ihtiyacım var.

Come home.
Eve gel.

The door is open.

Kapı açik.

Believe in this. Believe in us.

Buna inan. İlişkimize inan.

We’ll make it in the end.

Sonunda başaracağız.

The scrape of our shoes echo

our promises each time I walk her home.

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Across oceans or by each others’ sides:
love, we will make it in the end.