The final cries of a hopeless love, desperate letters to a lost beloved and a world of dark passion.
There are stars in the sky whose light reaches us, though they may have long since died. Letters to Sibel consists of lines that either reach their recipient or remain uncertain, pouring a hopeless love onto the pages.
“Since the plane took off on Saturday morning, until now, it’s been three days—let’s count today too, if fate allows, four days; all the images, sounds, visions, and troubles have tangled up inside me. I’d better not forget the days; tomorrow is Tuesday.
There you are, sitting on the chair across from me in the kitchen, tasting the profiterole. No, I’m not exaggerating, my dear Sibel, my love—holding you naked in my bed, gazing at your pure beauty, your sighs, your breath, your peace, that joyful face of yours—it’s a grace that love cannot heal, my darling. Light of my eyes, I just felt like calling you that. Damn, how little I smelled your hair.
So what is the remedy? I don’t know. I believe in the sanctity of this feeling, this intoxication, this wind that lifts the heart, in these moments of you fresh from the bath, in this love, just slightly less than those moments. I let myself go on the path of this love—some call it foolish courage, others childishness, some folly, and some a diseased state of mind—and I flow along that path.”
Garıp Toz 