State of existence: London

London it's not a place, it's a state of mind. And a state of soul. It's like a multiple universe, with the same root, from where we all leave and never return the same.

It's a balcony. It's quiet and it doesn't hurt. You lit a cigarette and observe the people with the calm of your false omnipresence, hoping that's the last glass of wine.

It's a backyard. Bearing the signs of each individual who's ever stepped your porch over the hours, days or years. It's sunny and colourful, the beer is cold and you keep on reading the same page, words lost their meaning and the curry smell from the neighbours makes you hungry, even if you just had lunch.

It's a room. Where you weren't supposed to be, but you are. There's no need for any blue dominance tonight, no rigorous thinking, no over analysing. Then, the morning happens. In between, the time meant nothing, but changed everything. So you have a coffee, lit a cigarette and try to find your way.

It's a tube station. Which has seen way too many bottles of wine, heard way too many confessions and witnessed way too many signs of love. Broken love, but still love.

It's 5 a.m.. The sun just rises, it's cold and warm, no whispers on the street and the lights make you cry. But you close the door, grateful that you are in this world of nones, always wishing that you would have picked that boy 10 years ago over your "complicated personality".

It's a pub. It smells, you hate the music and that glass is not properly washed. But after the first 2, it doesn't matter. You really want to sing karaoke, though your voice sucks and you are actually aware of it, when you are not imbued in alcohol.

It's a concert. Your walls are down. Sober, but shivering, because when you hear that first beat, your heart jumps through your ribs cage and you are higher than you've ever been. For the next 10 songs and a speech about how politicians suck, you are the most intense and calm person version of yourself.

It's a bus ride. Everyone is talking, excited to share the night's stories. Your mind is right there, looking for an even more exciting story than the one before, whilst your soul is grateful for that moment, those people and that feeling.

It's a house party. Always with an uncomfortable start, you end up talking about a philosopher you forgot you've ever read or debating over semantics and their importance when you post on FB.

The place becomes the moment. People become feelings. And sometimes, but just sometimes, you find a glimpse of happiness.

No comments:

Post a Comment