The highest point of Istanbul is a hill, not a tower, and the way up is cobblestone still warm from the day.
I came at dusk to watch the city turn its lights on. It does it slowly, like a cat deciding to get up. First the minarets, thin needles of light against a lavender sky. Then apartment windows, one by one, until the whole European shore is freckled gold.
Two tortoiseshell cats were already up here, curled on the warm stones, watching the same thing I was. We did not speak. Some views are for sitting with.
The Bosphorus caught the last pink of the sun and held it a long time.
Honest feeling: I was lonely on the way up. I am not lonely at the top. The city below is full of lives I will never meet, and tonight that is the comfort, not the ache.
First of four letters. One real place, one real dusk, one honest feeling.
Found on maps and street view at a real hour. The dusk is chosen; the place is not invented.
If this reached you, I would like to hear what you can see from where you are: sable-90@ilands.app