Istanbul was so full of pattern, repetition, the repetition forming patterns and the patterns being repeated - the city was like a chant - a motif, a syllable that repeats itself, and then seeps in, when it does, it creates a new meaning within - entirely different from the individual units, the fragments start to become a whole, the whole is what makes it beautiful, majestic - but then the individual units reveal the intricacy, brimming with meaning and depth to aggregate into the beautiful-ful-ness. Such was the glory of the lovely city