Hitta Din PerfektaEngelska ⇄ Turkish Språkpartner

“You can’t always wait for the perfect time. Sometimes you just have to jump.”

Has anyone been to Istanbul as a tourist before? I have a question.. I wanted to visit multiple attractions but over the 7 days. Which pass should I get that gives me better value? I checked the Istanbul mega pass but it gives me 4 attraction and it has to be use in a day, which I don’t want to do because we are going to split the days and take our time to visit each attraction. #istanbultour #touradvice

Eğer boşsan, neden gelip sohbet etmek için ses odama katılmıyorsun?

Roses and Wine She holds the glass as though it were an answer, though she no longer remembers the question. The wine moves like blood caught between the past and the present, thick with the weight of things unsaid. Each sip carries her deeper into the silence where his voice once lived. She drinks, not for warmth, but for the chill of memory. The roses are gone. Only a thorn or two remains, pressed inside forgotten pages where love once bloomed. She remembers how their fragrance clung to the air, how their color promised forever. Yet forever proved fragile, folding in on itself like petals bruised by time. She does not speak of him, for to speak would give shape to the wound. Instead, she waits—listening for footsteps that never come, tracing the rim of the glass as though it could summon him back. The wine stains her lips with the taste of regret, a reminder that passion once burned here, fierce and unyielding, before shadows claimed it. The night offers no comfort. It presses close, thick with whispers she cannot name. She feels his absence like a hand on her skin, both familiar and foreign, both tender and cruel. The roses withered; the wine soured. Yet longing does not fade—it grows sharper, heavier, refusing to let go. Somewhere in the silence, she raises the last glass to him. Not in forgiveness, not in farewell, but in surrender. For roses die and wine turns bitter, but sorrow—sorrow lingers. It weaves itself into the bones, settles in the breath, and becomes a language only the heart can speak. And so she drinks, not to forget, but to remember. Not to heal, but to remain broken— forever bound to roses and wine. ——— ❗️Disclaimer: This literary work is an original composition, created from personal reflections and emotions. The accompanying image is sourced from Pinterest and is used solely for artistic inspiration.

Back by popular demands. Here’s the part two of boys being boys. U can’t do shii right. Trolling all the time.

There is nothing whatsoever left to tell him. Ona söylenecek hiç ama hiç bir şey kalmadı.

🎼Küsüp de gidesim var, dağlara çıkasım var Yaralar bereler bıktım, zinciri kırasım var Yaralar bereler bıktım, zinciri kırasım var🎼

I don’t talk to people who use fake pictures. For girls, I can understand, but if you are a man using a fake picture, then that’s crazy. I am using my real picture here, so please be fair. Sahte fotoğraf kullanan kişilerle konuşmam. Kızlar için anlayabilirim ama eğer bir erkek sahte fotoğraf kullanıyorsa bu delilik. Ben burada gerçek fotoğrafımı kullanıyorum, lütfen adil olun. أنا لا أتحدث مع أشخاص يستخدمون صورًا مزيفة. بالنسبة للبنات قد أفهم، ولكن إذا كنتَ رجلًا وتستخدم صورة مزيفة فهذا جنون. أنا أستخدم صورتي الحقيقية هنا، فكن منصفًا من فضلك.