The sea holds no borders — only memory, salt, and light. Here, where Greece meets Turkey in water older than nations, the wind carries lavender from hillsides that could belong to either shore, or both. Lemon groves cling to cliffs, their fruit heavy and sun-warmed, releasing citrus into the breeze. The scent of amber rises from ancient stones baked golden by centuries of summer, while sea salt lingers on skin, on lips, on the edges of everything. This is the Aegean — a fragrance of shared breath, of islands scattered like prayers, of a horizon that refuses to divide. To light this candle is to remember: some things were never meant to be separated.