Time

Choose your time wisely because you can't live it twice

Rosie Vidovix-Unsworth 

My beautiful İstanbul

My beautiful Istanbul

From January to March, I walked your streets,  

wrapped in cold winds and soft light.  

The Bosphorus, always moving,  

carried whispers from a thousand years.  

A city where people smile at you for no reason,  

where a thousand cats and countless dogs welcome you.  

Seagulls circled above, happy to see me  

as I crossed bridges between continents.

The Grand Bazaar pulled me in,  

with its chaos, its colors, its stories  

woven into every corner.  

So many people there, each with their own history.  

Spices filled the air, and I found myself  

lost, not in direction but in time.

I descended into the Basilica Cistern,  

where I stared in the eyes of Medusa.

I stood beneath the shadow of Hagia Sophia,  

feeling its weight, its age,  

and yet it stood so effortlessly,  

a testament to everything you are.

And the trees, oh, the beautiful trees...  

Old, magnificent witnesses, standing silent  

in forests and gardens everywhere.

In the quiet moments,  

when the crowds faded,  

I watched the city breathe,  

felt its pulse in every alley,  

its history seeping into my bones.

Istanbul, you held me for those months,  

in your arms of stone and sea,  

and even as I left,  

you stayed with me,  

etched into my memory,  

my beautiful Istanbul.  

I will love you always...

The Sculptor's Love

He walks the quarry in silence,  

among the rough, raw faces of stone,  

and there—hidden in shadow—  

a block catches his eye.  

It is love at first sight.

He kneels, brushing dust from the surface,  

his hands already tracing her curves in his mind.  

She is there, waiting for him  

to free her from the anonymity of the mountains.  

He smiles,  

imagining the beauty that will rise from the shapeless hard rock,  

her eyes soft with a life she does not yet know.

Days stretch into nights,  

and he can not stop. 

Chisel after chisel,  

the tap of his hammer echoes like a heartbeat,  

steady and patient,  

each strike bringing her nearer.  

The stone yields to his will,  

his fingers guiding, shaping,  

breathing her into existence one careful touch at a time.  

His bones ache, his skin wears thin,  

but he does not tire.  

He can see her now,  

emerging with every fragment that falls away,  

her lips, her hands, the delicate arch of her neck

until she stands before him,  

the perfect vision he had dreamt.

She is done.  

Complete.  

He steps back, holding his breath,

staring into the eyes he carved,  

and they gaze back at him,  

unblinking, silent,  

yet so full of everything he longs for.  

His heart catches in his chest.

She is not just stone,  

not to him.  

She is warmth and softness,  

a companion, a love he cannot bear to be without.  

He whispers to her,  

his voice trembling with a strange, tender hope:  

"If only you could live.  

If only you could step from this cold marble,  

breathe, speak,  

be mine,  

as I have been yours from the moment I found you.

"Don't waste time with time wasters"

Time is one of the most precious things you have. Do not let people who don't value time, dictate how you use yours.