THE LONGING TRAIN

It’s summer in Istanbul. The city’s empty, the pool is full of try-hards, and I’m haunted by a man who wasn’t even that great.

Longing.You know the feeling. But the other night, it settled in like emotional acid reflux.

Not dangerous, but definitely ruining the vibe.

I went out, came home, laid down—and suddenly, I was aching.

Longing for a man.

Longing for answers.

Longing for childhood.

Longing for simpler days, when life peaked at sour cherry juice and pirated DVDs.

Just… longing.

For what? Not sure—just whatever my subconscious decided to mourn at 01:47 a.m. on a Saturday.

But let’s rewind. This isn’t meant to be sad.

It’s July in Istanbul. The city’s half-empty—which in some ways is a gift, but also kind of a curse. Everyone with options has escaped to the coast, leaving behind a strange cast of leftover characters.Not that I’m one of them, obviously—I’m just temporarily trapped in the same setting.One new-ish friend and a handful of people who feel like they missed the last flight to Bodrum.

I went to a pool. Tanned a little. Floated. Watched people.

And here’s the thing: no one was particularly attractive, but everyone acted like they were God’s gift to chlorinated water.

Peacocking.

Doing slow laps purely for visibility.

Changing swimsuits like they were mid-Instagram story and running a one-woman fashion campaign. Some even were.(When exactly did it become socially acceptable to stage a full photoshoot next to someone eating fries?)

Walking past the same spot four times just to make sure you clocked the body. Wet. Glowing. Delusional.

And I thought—wait, is this what I’m supposed to be doing?Should I be strutting around like a Love Island contestant, waiting to be pulled for a “chat”?

Honestly, it makes me uncomfortable.Do I have to perform confidence to feel confident?Maybe I’m just built differently.More of a hippo than a peacock.A sloth, maybe. Not lazy—just chill. Floaty. Quiet. Water-aligned.

Still, I got moody.

Where do the good people hang out in this city?

Not to sound sixteen, but: Where the cool people at??

And that’s when it happened.The longing.

It always starts vague—shape-shifting, atmospheric. And then: boom. A face. A night.Him.The man who’s been haunting my thoughts like a sexy-but-toxic, Greek-god-vibes ghost who refuses to cross over.

That night a year ago—we all have one of those. The kind that glows golden in hindsight, even if it really shouldn’t.

I woke up this morning—a year and a few days later (yes, I know the exact number—because of course I do)—asking myself: Was it worth it?

It’s been over a year and I still think about it. About him.And not even because he was so incredible, but because of the rush.

That intoxicating maybe.

That moment of this could work—before it didn’t.

That’s the thing.

I’m not even sure I long for him anymore.I think I long for the feeling.That giddy click.That magnetic pull.Because once it’s gone, what’s left?

Just a ghost.

A flicker.

A weird echo that haunts you during overcast swims and Turkish cab rides.

To be fair, I’ve moved on.Sort of.

I’ve upgraded him in my mind.

Removed the bad traits. Installed some better features.

Like a software update for a man who never actually worked in the first place.He’s a fictional character now—a Pinterest board of a human.

Anyway, I went out. I looked good.Some random men flirted. Cute enough.A little flirting is nice—it puts some blood back in your face.

But then I had that moment: Wait… is this what I’ve been holding out for? This?The bar felt so low it could be a speed bump.

I got in a cab.

Stared out the window.

Thought about that guy again.

Started spiraling.

Welcome aboard the Longing Train™, destination: unknown.Background music: “Tell Him” by Lauryn Hill.Tell him what, though?

“Hey. I think you kind of suck, but for some unexplainable reason you touched something in me, and I’ve spent the last year secretly wishing you were around… even though I know you’re not interested. And honestly, I dont know if I am either.”

So yeah.What does someone even say to that?

Probably nothing.

Maybe you just let the longing happen.Float in it.Let it lap over you like the pool you never wanted to peacock in.

Maybe you sit with the ache until it dissolves—or turns into something else:a joke, a blog post, a better version of you.

Until then… pass the SPF and turn up the “I am an independent woman secretly longing to be in a relationship with an imaginary man” playlist.

We float.