Within two days of landing in Istanbul, the city I now call home, I fell in love. It lasted exactly one month, during which we bounced between “I love you” and “This will never work!”
Nine months later, I fell in love again — this time with a man I met because he was looking for a roommate. My first viewing of his apartment lasted a day-and-a-half and included endless, effortless conversation; two bottles of wine; an impromptu dinner eaten without utensils; a few hours’ sleep on the pull-out couch; and a large traditional breakfast. He pushed up my move-in date so we could spend more time together. That relationship was also a beautiful, albeit instructive, disaster.
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