Because I’m in pain my love. Just like anyone who is cursed by our land. I am listening to songs from Habil’s language and I don’t understand the words but I fully understand their meanings since I am a child of Qabil’s – or vice versa, no one owns this bloodcase anymore – but we all know it will continue. Forever. Until time ends. And each sound in our instruments echo like a stone falling into the depths of a well housing many generations of heads of mankind, separated from their bodies. This year we died again my love. We died together, we died a lot my love. Some of us lost our feet, some arms, and some eyes. We got lost a lot my love. This was a bad year for love, my love. We all have insomnia now. Our children will never know why they are cursed, my love. We won’t be able to protect our children from this curse, from this desire and from this pain, my love. Should we accept it? Should we let it go? Can we let it go? Can we be healed with Western medicine? How many electroshocks would it take to mute our nightmares, my love? How many tantrums and how many silent storms will we walk through, my love? Separately. Always separately, my love. Unable to find each other because of this curse, unable to breathe because of this curse and unable to float because of this curse, my love. And our pain will echo through all nights of the world until we reach to the peripheries of everyone’s sleep, my love. In the darkest and lightest nights our pain will echo my love. And we will be forgotten like everyone else.

 
When we are forgotten I will have time to learn your language and I will translate everything I know into your language, my love. Then we will be betrayed by a very late peace. And you know what? The curse will continue. It is because of the land. We are chained by the land. Until then I will dissect my pain and my desire and make a disgusting spectacle out of it. God left us long ago. But that’s good my love, no one can colonize us with God anymore. We faced God and we were unimpressed, our dreams were brighter and our nightmares were darker than his imagination.
 
So just like you, I am trying to make a spectacle out of our eternal sick desire my love. It is a very particular desire and I understood its particularity only when I met other people my love, only when I met people who do not have it. Only when I was faced with people who don’t understand pain. It took time to understand it, for it to sink in. And I still don’t understand people who don’t understand pain and desire my love. And I think I am scared of them. I am not sure which one I’ll chose my love, a sadist who understands pain or a sensual retard who cannot feel anything? Which one will you pick my love?
 
I know I am among the very many, among the very many who are suffering just like me but probably worse, much worse – and I deal with it every day just like you my love, even on days that I can’t explain to myself why I’m doing this to myself, why I am dealing with this pain – just like you my love. Unlike you my love, I refuse all treatments, I don’t do drugs and psychoanalysis – unlike you I know what is in my drawers my love. And I know why I keep them closed. I’ve long diagnosed myself as a masochist my love. And I am particularly good at it, my gravitational intensity has its roots in this pain and refusal of its treatment my love. I know there is no modern cure for this curse.
 
That is why I close the coffee cups with hopes and wishes and with thoughts of better days my love. Coffee cups are my shots of daily hope my love. There are days that I feel like I won’t be able to see the next morning my love and than someone, possibly a friend like you, would read my future within a coffee cup and say something like this:
 
You have three long ways to go
You have a bleeding scar on your heart
You will meet someone holding fire in their hands soon
You will find people who will understand you
You will break into hearts of other people and erode their securities
You have a bird and a fish – bird means you’ll soon get good news, fish means there is an unexpected lucky charm on your way   
This person holding fire, this person has been waiting for you for a long time and you have been looking for this person for a long time
Take care of your mind and your backbone
And your wish will come true after two droplets of tears
 
(Once we got high with a friend, the kind of friend that gets old like wine, she said in a parallel universe I would have a butterfly knife and I told her in that universe she would be a skater girl. I have always been doing what a butterfly knife does in its best illusionist’s hands with words, cause a butterfly knife is not designed to kill, it is designed to wound and show off -- but yes, it can kill.)   
 
And you my love, will suffer in your broken macho slutness. Not even aware of your chains. My love, its because of the land, it penetrates us through each pore and we hold on to our grudges. (No one makes love like us. We make it like bread and when we run out of ingredients we starve. We starve like no one else my love. And we know it, it is a secret that passes from generation to generation like hate and grudge and fire.) I won’t fall apart my love. I won’t because I know we will never meet and even if we meet we will never recognize each other. It’s because of the land, my love. It is because of the layers and layers of mythologies. If we ever meet and if we ever recognize each other we will face unimaginable obstacles. It won’t be a Hollywood movie my love, it will be a dead end epic. We will avoid each other my love. With the simple knowledge that love will only multiply our pain and we can’t suffer any more and we suffered so much that we are way too damaged to be healed and we can’t give it a try. Cause if we give it a try we can’t survive. We would probably choose to survive, my love.

I will hold on to our common dream of abolishing all rules of grammar in all languages, my love. I will hold on to my grudges for you and feed the dragons for fire.

(And I promise, I will not appear in your coffee cups and I won't give you hope.)  

With love and a sink filled with hair,
Never to see you

Deniz