Nuri’s POV
On the sixth day of vacation, one quiet afternoon, I held Sibyl's hand and taught her to write a love poem.
This love poem was written for my mother by my father when he was courting her. My mother loved it, wrote it on their marriage certificate and treasured it.
When I was young, my mother held me in her arms. I sat on her lap, smelling her perfume, listening to her softly recite this poem:
For glance beget ogles,
ogles sighs,
sighs wishes,
wishes words,
and words a letter.
At first, I didn't know the meaning of the poem, but I thought its rhythm was beautiful. Every time my mother read this poem, she would smile gently, as if immersed in some kind of happy memory. My father would repeat the poem with her in a low voice, and they would look at each other and feel thei
