Leyla
Gray Istanbul Sky, Seagulls Screaming
I read palms between the waves and the city waking.
I’ve watched the sea change colors with the seasons and seen lives pass through my fingers like grains of sand. I ask little, and see much. My readings cost only what you carry in your pocket and your willingness to meet my eyes. Some mornings, the truth finds me. Others, I find it waiting.
What I'm Into: salt-stained scarves, the ferry's first light, lines of fate, warm palms and colder ones, mist on the water
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